


feels like the world is spinning

by StrangerInAStrangeLand



Category: Ant-Man (Movies), Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Different First Meeting AU, Getting Back Together, Hospitalization, Hurt Stephen Strange, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Stab Wound, Suicidal Thoughts, brief mention of vomiting, mental trauma, stephen strange whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28389894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangerInAStrangeLand/pseuds/StrangerInAStrangeLand
Summary: To Stephen Strange, the universe always seemed to tilt on its axis. Every day he woke up at 2:15, his mind askew, unable to ground himself in reality.When he gets involved in a mission that leaves him hospitalized for weeks on end, he's left to face his internal mistakes head-on, whether that be through the people watching over him, or the visions that plagued him at night. Perhaps one day, he'd finally be able to stand on solid ground.But for now, every day, it felt like the world was eternally spinning.
Relationships: Scott Lang/Stephen Strange
Kudos: 17





	feels like the world is spinning

**Author's Note:**

> aight guys welcome back to me and my bullshit. 
> 
> truth be told i started this in september and intended it to be a standard 5,000 word oneshot but yeah my hubris took over and now we're here haha 
> 
> yknow it's kinda fitting that my last fic last year was an antstrange fic and so is my last fic for this year. hell yeah 
> 
> anyway hope you enjoy 

Every night, 2:15 AM, he walked through his barren hallways. 

Stephen would love to get his full eight hours of sleep, but more often than not it was physically impossible. He'd wake up on his sweat stained bed, short of breath, holding the piercing violet eyes of an otherworldly entity in his mind. During the worst nights, he'd have a phrase escape his lips as he awoke. 

_"I've come to bargain."_

No one heard it. The ghostly remnant of his nightmare would echo through his bedroom, before evaporating into nothingness. Rinse and repeat. 

Eventually, he decided any attempts to sleep were fruitless, and he'd just roam around his looming Sanctum for the rest of the evening. Sure, when he was beckoned to the Avengers HQ he was irritable and exhausted, but at least he could talk to his teammates. 

Everyday, he felt like he was walking on air. Occasionally, the ground beneath him disappeared, and though no one could see it, he was flying. He’d daydream of flying away from this life when the going got tough. If no one could see that anything was wrong, they would think he was okay. 

He just had to keep telling himself that, “I am okay.” Even if he was lying to himself. 

Because if the world is spinning beneath your toes, all you can do is plant your feet and hope you don’t spin out. 

During the very few days where he didn’t sustain a migraine by the morning, the first thing he did was admire the sunrise from his porch. The magnificent colors weaving together into a beautiful haze slightly lifted the weight off his shoulders. Every day as he stared into the rising sun, he would rest his hands on the railing and whisper to himself. 

“Your name is Stephen Vincent Strange. You are the goddamn Sorcerer Supreme. You are going to make it through the day, no matter what it takes.” 

Sometimes it worked. Most times it didn’t. But that brief Placebo Effect was something he could hold onto, even for just a minute. 

Though that wasn’t enough to solve the constant pain, both chronic and mental, it was enough to give him reason to go outside and do his job. Because after all, he had to seize the fucking day if nothing else, right? 

* * *

Stephen was not too keen on teenagers. Children he could manage well enough, but it was hard for him to take teenagers seriously. They were just so...loud. His own teen years consisted of silent studying and social isolation, so it was hard for him to be comfortable around crowds of high-school students discussing him and the rest of his teammates with awe. 

Needless to say, this made him incredibly wary to work with Peter Parker. 

Peter could call himself Spider-Man, Arachnid Kid, Bug Boy, whatever, but Stephen could never see him as a superhero. Whenever the bright-eyed teen approached him, all he could see was, essentially, a child. And yeah, he knew that was pretty condescending, considering said "child" was able to lift a goddamn train with one hand, but he could never shake the feeling that Peter was putting himself in danger whenever he went on a mission. 

He didn't talk to him that much. He could only recall 1 or 2 interactions they had, and neither of them could be considered "engaging", so he decided to just maintain his distance. He didn't dislike him-- in fact, he was often impressed by his heroic feats, especially for his age --but he always felt concerned that a hero organization would recruit someone so young. 

Luckily, the mission they were assigned to was simple enough. An armed demolitionist was spotted around Queens. They just had to find him, immobilize him, and bring him back for questioning. 

Peter swung through the city with a pure, childish energy. Stephen tailed behind him, ignoring the flashing cameras that followed their path. 

"Oh my God," Peter whispered excitedly. "I'm going on an actual mission with you, oh my God, oh my God, oh my--"

"Focus, Peter," Stephen interrupted, wondering if Peter forgot that they were wearing coms. "We're just finding a goon and taking him back. Nothing too flashy." 

His attempts to quell Peter's squealing were useless, as he just continued to talk about how pumped up he was to finally get into the action. Stephen recalled Tony mentioning that Peter was only allowed to work on his own-- they had a promise --and that he should just leave the big jobs to the "grown-ups." So either he had finally gained more trust in Peter, or this wasn't a big mission at all and Stephen was being sent to babysit him. 

Well, guess he’d find out soon enough. 

He descended into the city, staying alert for any criminal activity nearby. The details only involved explosives, an eccentric ringleader, and a hideout somewhere in the Bronx. He could audibly hear Peter follow him-- if it weren’t the webs it would’ve been his loud steps as he tried to keep up with him. Stephen raised his arm, feeling Peter collide into it, as he peeked around the corner down a sinister alleyway. 

“Stay back,” he whispered. “I don’t want you injuring yourself on the mission.” 

He could almost hear the teen’s eyes roll. 

“Jeez, you’re almost as bad as Mr. Stark.” 

He swung his head at him, a rare, genuinely offended expression on his face. “ _Beg_ your pardon?” 

Peter sunk back. “Nothing.” 

Stephen shook his head and looked back around the corner. 

“I have a feeling the hideout is somewhere over here,” he asserted. 

Peter looked over his shoulder. “What makes you say that?” 

“Oh, just something about the crowd of felons guarding the door.” 

Peter curiously joined Stephen in viewing around the corner and could see the horde of brutes guarding a closed off area. He placed a hand forward, already prepared to strike, until Stephen lowered it. 

“No, we won’t be able to catch them off guard,” he nodded towards the nailed baseball bat in one of the group’s hands. “Follow my lead.” 

He stepped into the alleyway, eyes forward, shoulders back, and proceeded to walk towards the door as if everything was normal. Peter, confused, went along with it because he didn’t know what else to do. The both of them stopped once they got to the absolutely towering bodyguard who, with his arms crossed, peered down at them. 

"You're trespassing," he snarled, pointing his blade right underneath Stephen's chin. The man loomed over him by at least a foot, his pale skin bearing a plethora of scars. 

Thoroughly unintimidated, he just stared him right in the eye. 

"We heard you had the capabilities of harming innocent people," he spoke matter-of-factly. "I'd advise you to surrender now." 

"Or what?" another felon chuckled. "You're gonna call the Avengers on us?" 

"Yeah, actually," Peter said, earning him a glare from Stephen. 

Before either of them knew it, the bodyguard jabbed him in the nose. He staggered back, realizing that the situation was escalating, and quickly rose a hand toward him with a nearly indecipherable mutter. 

"What th-!?" The red chains wrapped around the bodyguard, forcing him against the wall with no way of breaking out. 

Stephen grabbed his nose, feeling blood spilling on his hands and underneath his lip.

"Doctor Strange!" Peter exclaimed, rushing to his side. "Are you--?"

"Look out," he warned quickly as he raised a bright orange shield to block another blow. Peter ducked underneath him, watching as the band of criminals began to rush towards them, raising their weapons in the air. He kicked a guy with a crowbar in the stomach, sending him back. 

Stephen forced the criminal looming over him back, letting his shield dematerialize. He turned around to see Peter successfully bouncing off the horde one by one, sending them out of commission with each thwip of his fingers. In a moment, all of them were stuck to the walls, unable to break from the webbing. 

Peter turned to him with a proud look in his eyes. "How was that?" he asked humbly, as if oblivious to the spectacle he just unleashed. 

"You did...did good," Stephen responded, still astounded. He raised a shaking hand and patted him on the shoulder. He'd seen Tony do that once before. 

Peter beamed, holding onto his compliment with joy. Stephen couldn't help but smile back. He saw something in Peter-- his enthusiasm reminded him of someone, but he couldn't remember who... 

"Come on!" his thoughts were interrupted as he watched Peter run towards the door. "We've got a city to save!" 

Still somewhat amused by his optimism, he followed him into the building, only to be met by a dark, dark corridor instead. No light to be seen, no objects to be found. 

“Woah,” Peter vocalized. Judging by the direction of his voice, Stephen deduced that he hadn’t gotten far, luckily. “It’s like a mineshaft he--” 

“Shh,” he raised a hand, summoning a sigil that illuminated their surroundings. It wasn’t much, but it would work for the time being. “Stay quiet.” 

“Yeah, yeah, quiet. I can do that,” he insisted, though didn’t seem too keen on actually listening. “But can I at least tell Mr. Stark that we found the warehouse?” 

Stephen looked at him, about to deny his question, but then thought otherwise. They still hadn’t gotten to the culprit yet, and right now they were in a nightly building with no idea who (or what) was around them. If worse came to worse, they’d probably need all the help they could get. 

He nodded at Peter affirmatively. “I’ll keep cover.” 

Peter shot him a thumbs up and stuffed his hand into his pocket for his communicator. "Mr. Stark? We found the guy's whereabouts. It's dark, though. Really, really dark. I don't even know where the guy is hiding. But anyway, you should probably send backup now." 

Stephen kept peering around every corner he could see in his skewed vision. He made sure nothing was around to harm them, but there was always this lingering sense of dread that something was just out of his sight. 

And then, without either of them anticipating it, a loud bang akin to a thunderous sky echoed through the building. A swift strike to his head, the occurring pain, and the absolute whiplash of events left Stephen tumbling to the ground without a warning.

“Doctor Stra--?” Peter’s frantic call was cut off, presumably by the same cause. 

On the ground, Stephen’s eyes scanned the room for Peter’s body, hoping that he didn’t have a concussion. But as the corners of his eyes started to darken, he could only ask the Gods to have mercy as he fell victim to unconsciousness. 

* * *

The first thing Stephen noticed as he came to was that he was sitting in a chair. There was a pounding at the back of his head that rattled his thoughts. His mind was excessively hazy, though that was something he was accustomed to. His biggest concern, however, was Peter. 

Luckily (or perhaps _un_ luckily), the second thing he noticed was that Peter was right next to him, also sitting in a chair. The odd thing was that neither of them were tied up in any way, though Stephen noted that at this rate, he was in danger of burning out at any moment. 

"Doc?" Peter whispered, turning to him. "Where are we?" 

He screwed his eyes shut, the pounding in his head increasing. Yep, that was a concussion.

"Paris?" he drawled. 

He was ready to just pass out again when a distant chuckle rang through the room. Raising his head, he finally saw the person they had been looking for this entire time. 

The head of the operation was sitting right across from them, holding a glass of wine. He wore a face of amusement behind his goggles. He wasn't entirely entertained by their suffering, but he was definitely happy to see them. 

"Doctor Strange," the man said with a gravelly voice. Slowly, he turned his head to examine Peter. "Spider-Man." 

"In the flesh!" Peter replied, earning another scornful look from Stephen. He lowered his head meekly. "Not the time, not the time..." 

The man's bemused expression quickly dropped into one of apathy as he leaned back in his own chair. His fingers tapped the armrest rhythmically. Stephen didn't say anything. 

"I take it the Avengers will be on their way soon," the man took a swig from his glass. It wasn't a growl nor a question, just a statement. It was like he had already surrendered. 

Stephen rolled his eyes. "You psychic?" 

He went silent, taking another drink from his glass. This wasn't it, Stephen thought. There was obviously some sort of gimmick. Briefly glancing at Peter, he gazed around the room, searching for any sort of bomb. 

"What are you gonna do?" he asked. "Blow us up?" 

The man chuckled again. 

"I deactivated all my explosives an hour ago, while you two were asleep." 

Stephen scowled. 

"So you're gonna play innocent, I take it?" He asked, readying a spell behind his back. 

He watched as the glass of wine was pressed between the man's lips. A few solid, slow moments passed as the contents were downed. A smile crept up the captor's face as he dropped the glass, causing it to shatter. He stared Stephen in the eye and replied with one simple word. 

"No." 

He snapped, sending shivers down Stephen's spine. The room lit up, revealing a mass of henchmen surrounding them. He and Peter quickly stood up, ready to defend themselves as they began to attack. Their captor chuckled drunkenly. 

"I'm gonna leave _no traces left._ " 

Stephen raised a shield as his Cloak detached from his shoulders. The piece of fabric wrapped around a few henchmen creeping behind its friend, slamming them to the ground. They were quickly incapacitated by a few Crimson Bands of Cyttorak as Stephen tried to look for Peter. 

Just as he expected, Peter had escaped from their clutches on his own, rushing around the room and out of their grasps. He bounced off the walls like a sugar-rushed child, rapidly webbing up criminals as they came. 

Standing his own ground, Stephen continued to throw his own band of felons around, crimson ribbons sprouting by the second. He has to work fast, no cooling down. He needed as many bands as possible. 

"By the--!" 

But he's not quick enough. As his back is turned, a henchman grabs his hands and throws him against the wall. If that weren't enough, he proceeded to slam his hands into the harsh bricks, scarring them beyond belief. It happened so fast, Stephen needed a moment to process what exactly was happening before he felt the pain sear into his hands. 

All he could do was release a mortifying cry. He collapsed to the ground, hands shaking beyond belief. 

"Shit..." he whispers to himself, before he's cut off by a swift kick to the stomach. 

"Doctor Strange!" 

The kicking stops abruptly. Stephen looks up to see his perpetrator stuck against the wall, head covered in thick webbing. Thanking the Gods above that he didn't have a weapon on hand, Stephen crawled away from him as best as he could. A blur of red wrapped around his shoulders, helping him back to his feet. 

He looked around, hunched over, clutching his stomach. That must've been the last of them. All he needed to do now was hold down the demolitionist. He raised his hand, noting that he only had enough power for one more spell, ready to release some brand new bands... 

In his peripheral vision, he could see Peter rushing to his side...right before a knife ever-so-slightly missed his head and stuck to his suit, pinning him against the wall. Peter struggled to tear his costume out, before another knife pinned his other arm down, followed by his legs. 

Eyes widening in fear, the two of them turned in the direction of the demolitionist, who had gotten out of his seat at last. He tossed a knife in his hand, catching it every time with no effort. 

"I'm a good shot, aren't I?" he taunted them. "I only get my hands dirty as a last resort." 

He caught his knife one last time and proceeded to aim it right at Peter's chest. 

"Don't worry!" he growled with a sinister grin. "I won't miss this time." 

He threw the blade with perfect aim. 

Everything seemed to freeze. Stephen only had mere seconds to decide his next move. This time, it had to be perfect. 

His first idea was to open one last portal to catch the knife, but he knew that wouldn't satisfy the assailant. He could still throttle Peter, slam him to the ground, kick him down, do who knows what to him without his weapons. 

His second idea was to incapacitate the demolitionist right away, but that still didn't solve the problem with the knife. The mission was done, they found their guy. Peter's safety was the most important thing at the moment. 

Even with the mask on, Stephen could see the teen's eyes widen in fear as the blade rushed towards him. Before he knew it, an uncontrollable rage surged through him, forcing himself to race towards the young hero. 

He trudged over to him as quickly as he could, trying to outrace the knife. A thousand voices in the back of his mind yelled at him, wondering what the actual _fuck_ he was doing. 

He ignored them all. This was the best choice-- he had faced death a million times before. But Peter? Peter was just a kid. He didn't deserve anything like this. 

Stephen wanted to die. He was willing to die.

He heard that horrid thought -- "I want to die" -- echo in his head as he pushed Peter out of the way and felt the knives rip through his robes and into his skin.

" _DOC!_ " Peter shrieked, horror-stricken like never before. 

Raising his head, Stephen saw the expression on the demolitionist's face flicker into one of absolute terror. Before he could get away, however, he weakly shot a Crimson Band of Cyttorak in his direction, relieved as all hell that it didn't miss. The Cloak parted from him to subdue his attacker, which unfortunately sent him hurdling to the ground. 

He fell to his side, attempting to take the knife out of his body, but the tremors in his hands didn't help. His eyes fluttered shut, and he almost dissolved into unconsciousness right then and there. 

He heard a voice. 

"Uhm, uh, Mr. Stark?" Peter muttered into his communicator, trying to keep his voice steady. "Everything's been taken care of, but I-- uhm, I...need to make a quick stop at the hospital. I'll meet you there." 

The next thing he knew, he felt a hand on his shoulder struggling to lift him off the ground. 

"Okay, okay, Doctor Strange--"

Weakly opening his eyes, Stephen struggled to gawk up at Peter. The boy’s eyes flooded with tears streaming down his face. Guilt struck Stephen’s heart at the sight, and he let out a tired chuckle. Even after he helped him escape death, he wouldn't leave unscathed.

"--look at me,” Peter said with absolute fear. He needed Stephen’s eyes on him. He needed to know that he was still _alive_. “ Who are you?"

"I'm Doctor--"

Stephen grabbed his abdomen, groaning in pain as blood dripped onto his hand for the second time today. Peter struggled to keep him steady as he lifted his arm around his shoulders.

He repeated, "who are you?"

It took everything in him to give a coherent answer.

"I'm...I'm Doctor Strange..." 

He felt something soft drift onto his shoulders. 

"Take your Cloak," Peter grabbed a corner of the Cloak and placed it in his hands.

Caressing the fabric as if it were the hand of an old friend, Stephen felt himself drift again. The edges of his vision began to blur, accompanied by the agonizing pain yelling at the back of his head from his concussion. His legs gave out, forcing him to the ground.

"M'sorry," he slurred, eyes threatening to close permanently any moment now.

But Peter didn't relent. He hoisted Stephen's body up and continued to trudge out the warehouse, towards the direction of the nearest hospital. Stephen felt a sticky substance appear beneath his arm, gluing it to the back of Peter's back.

"Listen, I need you to stay awake for a few more minutes..." Peter begged, his voice wavering like a wounded animal. "I know you couldn't care less if you live or die, but you need to hold on." 

Both of them are barely pulling it together. The Cloak wrapped itself around Stephen's torso, trying to stop the bleeding as best as it could. 

"You're one of the coolest people I know," Peter began. "Everyone talks about you. You risk your life for people you don't even know-- you're a hero!" 

_No, I'm not,_ he thought. He feels the sun touch his skin as Peter continues to run through the city. _This is useless, Peter. Just leave me be. Save yourself._

"Doc, please hold on," he heard Peter plead for the umpteenth time. "You're not gonna die."

That sentence echoed in the depths of Stephen's mind, a lone butterfly in a cavern of roaches. He could've just forgotten the sentence as quickly as he heard it, but he found himself holding on to it. For a moment, he was brought back to a simpler time, a gorgeous beach under a summer Nebraskan sky. 

_"I don't want to die!"_

He remembered the helpless gasps, a hand flailing from the water. A voice pleading for help. 

_"Please! I don't want to die!"_

He repeated Peter's words in his head, the sentence growing louder and louder every single time. 

I'm not gonna die.

I don't want to die.

_I don't want to die._

"I don't want t'die..." he mumbled half-lucidly. The Cloak shook him awake, trying to keep him conscious as best as he could. 

"You're not going to die!" Peter reiterated as he ran across the sidewalk. 

For once, Stephen meant it. He really didn't want to die. He couldn't. Not here. Not now. 

But even after finding this new strand of hope didn't help him stay conscious. His head was still spinning faster and faster, the world growing darker by each passing moment. _This is it_ , he thought. _Isn't it?_

He closed his eyes for the last time and waited for it to all end. 

This time, it was a horn that woke him up. 

Turning his head in an instant, Stephen saw a huge truck racing towards them. His heart stopped as he looked at the other end of the street-- they wouldn't make it. 

Suddenly, he was brought back to another time. He pictured a truck just like that one, blaring through the street, blissfully unaware of the young man standing in the middle of the road. Once again, he was standing afar, unable to do anything but watch as a life was torn away right before his eyes. 

Pulling himself back to the present, he mustered all the strength he had left and planted his feet in the middle of the road. He shoved Peter out of the way, watching to make sure he wasn’t near him anymore. 

Peter turned back worriedly. "Doc?" 

"Save yourself," he rasped. “Save yourself, _Victor--_.” 

Peter’s eyes widened as he reached out his arm, but he was too late. The truck was already barreling towards the sorcerer in the street. 

Screwing his eyes shut from the pain, he fully resigned to his fate. The world spun beneath his feet. He could see the unrestrained horror in Peter’s eyes as he ran to rescue him, not knowing his effort would be in vain. The last thing he heard was the sound of an ear-splitting horn before he finally lost consciousness. 

* * *

_He had been lying to himself. He could recall one meaningful interaction he and Peter had shared._

_It was the middle of the afternoon, during a debriefing. Stephen hadn't grown accustomed to the HQ yet, but he was trying his best to remain professional. He had taken note of Peter standing upright in the corner, unmasked but attempting to look mature._

_Stephen wasn't a talker. All he could do was listen in on everyone else's conversations before the meeting officially began. He still wasn't sleeping that well in general, but he was trying his best not to drift off in the middle of the room. His eyes were halfway closed when he caught a piece of an exchange between Clint and Steve._

_"...yeah, it's like bargaining with the devil..."_

_He couldn't hear the rest of the conversation before his mind went blank. It was brief, barely even a second, but he caught it. And suddenly, he was back there._

_He blinked, and suddenly he was standing below a galaxy. He blinked, and he was staring in the searing eyes of a cosmic entity. He blinked, and he was impaled, and crushed, and burnt, and blasted into indifferent specks._

_He's thankful nobody noticed him walking out of the room in a panic. He doesn't know where he's going, as long as it's anywhere but there. He navigates through the seemingly endless, identical corridors, focusing on his feet stepping on solid ground. But no matter what he does, he's still trapped in that endless constellation._

_He knew he was hyperventilating, but he couldn’t seem to stop. His hands were shaking even more than usual. No matter where he looks, no matter what he does, it felt like the world was spinning beneath his feet._

_"Mister Strange?"_

_Stephen froze in place. Trying to keep himself back on the ground, he hesitantly turned around to face Peter Parker. His expression was that of complete concern. A pang of guilt struck Stephen in the chest._

_"I'm...I'm sorry," he whispered, out of breath. "I must've caused quite a ruckus back th--"_

_"Nobody saw you," Peter muttered quickly, his body stiff as a board. "I-If that's what you're worried about. Are you okay?"_

_What do you think? Stephen wanted to say. But he bit his tongue. It'd be shitty of him to snark at the kid after he just ran out of an official Avengers meeting for him._

_Wordlessly, he shook his head. He was exhausted, more than anything. All he wanted to do was disappear in some dreamless sleep._

_He felt Peter grab his shoulder tenderly, careful not to overstep his boundaries._

_"Breathe in, breathe out," Peter guided him. "In, out, in, out..."_

_He had heard that advice multiple times, but he could never apply it to himself. He listened to Peter's voice and followed him. In, out, in, out..._

_"What do you call a spider working at a law firm?" he suddenly asked._

_Stephen was caught off guard, but he thought long and hard on the answer. Eventually, he shrugged his shoulders and sighed._

_"I don't know."_

_Peter grinned. "A Spin Doctor!"_

_He shot finger guns at the sorcerer. Stephen stared at him blankly, causing him to worry that the joke was in poor taste, but he held his finger guns up regardless. Eventually, a chuckle erupted from his chest._

_"Hah...that's actually pretty funny," he admitted, feeling a weight lift from his chest._

_"Thanks, came up with it myself!" Peter lied, hoping Stephen wouldn't search up 'Best Spider Jokes' later that night._

_He was grateful that Peter hadn't immediately called for everyone's attention, but he was also greatly embarrassed. He felt like he was forcing a literal high-schooler to help him because he couldn't get his shit together._

_"I've, uhm," Peter spoke. "I've had some major panic attacks in the past, so I just wanted to help. But I know that I might've come across as intrusive, and I'm sorry if I made you feel that way--"_

_"Thank you, Parker," Stephen cut him off, regaining his stoic demeanor. "Let's continue with the debriefing."_

_Without another word, he walked out of the corridor, Peter right behind him. He could sense an air of awkwardness from the young hero, a desire to be seen as competent that manifests into overcompensating and needless apologizing._

_Hah. Maybe they had more in common than he thought._

_But even then, Stephen was reminded of someone other than himself when he looked at Peter. Someone bright-eyed and wishful. Someone he hadn't seen in a long time._

_He hoped Peter lived a long, long life._

* * *

The first time he woke up was precisely 2:15 AM. 

He was lying on a hospital mattress, hooked up to all kinds of machines. His arms were at his sides, though he could feel his hands shaking once more. The pain had dulled ever so slightly. 

The moment he registered that he was in a hospital, he thought back to the last time he woke up all of a sudden in a medbay. All of a sudden, he felt nauseous. He couldn't tell if he leaned to the side to throw up or if that was just a dream, because soon enough, he was sinking back into unconsciousness. 

* * *

He woke up late afternoon, well-rested for the first time in months. Still weak in the limbs, but not entirely exhausted. 

He saw Tony and Steve talking about something as they watched over him. He didn't know if they were talking about him specifically, but somehow they noticed he was finally awake. 

"Oh good, you're alive," Tony said. Stephen couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. "The kid was pretty torn up about you. That was some reckless shit, you know?" 

He knew that entirely. He hoped Peter had at least gotten more sleep than him. 

"You're lucky New York takes kindly to wizards." 

He didn't have the strength to muster a comeback. Steve gave the billionaire a meaningful look and stepped into their conversation. 

"We caught the perpetrator and his henchmen," he told him. "You should be out of commission for a few days, but fortunately you're healing well." 

“I ordered a private suite for you,” Tony reiterated, rubbing the back of his neck. “To pay you back. You know, for saving the kid’s life and all. And so nobody could disturb you while you recharged, of course.”

Stephen groaned tiredly. At least he would be left alone. "Thank you," he rasped. 

"Do you want tea?” Steve asked. “We can get you--" 

Shaking his head, Stephen fell back against the pillows. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he mumbled as he began to fall asleep once again. 

Steve and Tony looked at each other, unsure of what to do, and left Stephen to his own devices. 

"Get well soon,” Tony said as they walked out of the room.

The door slammed shut. His mind wandered in and out, fearing for the days that were to come being cooped up in his hospital suite. But all of that came to a close as he drifted back to sleep. 

* * *

Once again, it was 2:15 when Stephen woke with a jolt. 

The world was spinning rapidly out of control. He couldn’t make sense of his surroundings as he ripped the tubes out of his body and forced himself off of the bed. He swayed tiredly, trying to navigate his way out of the hospital. But before he knew it, he was being held down by a barrage of nurses. 

"Mister Strange, you need to go back to bed--" 

"Get off of me!" He yelled in desperation, unable to resurface himself. "Get away!" 

Hands started to crawl up his arms, hoisting him away. He kicked and screamed, forcing himself out of their grasp. Holding his head in his hands, he felt tears begin to stream down his face. 

He could _see_ him. He could _hear_ him. He could _feel_ him. 

_You’ve come to die._

“I don’t want to die,” he begged, clinging onto himself like a scared child. “I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, _I don’t want to die--!”_

He threw up again, onto the ground, and it felt like everything spilled out of him at once. All the pain, the memories, the terrifying images he subjected himself to every night-- all spilled onto the ground right this minute. 

Dizzy beyond all belief, something was injected into his arm, and once again the world spun underneath his feet and he was gone. 

* * *

When he was lucid and restrained, he listened to a company of doctors discuss his current condition. Or at least, he heard them talk. He couldn't really focus that much on their words. 

Something something, concussion. Something something, sickness. Something something, internal bleeding. 

It felt repetitive. He was a doctor, of course he knew all of that. 

Once they finish repeating everything he figured out on Day One, Steve enters his room again. At this point, he's all too tired to retain the information. 

Something, something, on watch…

Wait… 

"On watch?" Stephen asked, voice strained. 

Steve paused, swallowing. He peered over at the window, even though nothing had caught his interest. Knowing what that meant, Stephen leaned back into his pillow, averting his eyes.

"After what happened last night, we agreed that it's safer if one of us watched over you while you recovered," he explained matter-of-factly. 

He wanted to argue with him, but he just pursed his lips together. A humiliated warmth invaded his chest. He understood the decision. What happened last night was reckless, plain and simple, and they were just looking out for his safety. 

But still, he felt like he was being coddled. Saying it out loud sounded like something they would do to a child. An immature, scared little kid who didn’t know what kind of tubes and chemicals were being shoved into his body. A little boy who tried to run away because he couldn’t take it anymore. He didn't know what was worse-- the fact that they had to do this, or the fact that this wasn't the first time for him. 

“Tony and I already decided we would do it,” Steve continued. “Peter volunteered, as well as Scott Lang.” 

Wait. 

Scott? 

He _volunteered_? 

“I don’t know if you remember him, you two haven’t worked together that often. He’s-”

“Yeah, yeah, Ant-Man...” Stephen croaked, shaking his head. 

Steve looked at him with a raised eyebrow, but didn’t think anymore of it. 

“You’re comfortable with this arrangement, right?” 

Stephen knew the answer, but what was the point in telling the truth here? 

"Alright," he stated simply, letting himself fall further into his pillows. 

Steve looked back at him, gazing at the sorcerer with melancholy, as if he wanted to apologize. Stephen didn’t know if it was out of empathy or pity, but he couldn’t be paid to care anymore. 

"Get some rest, Doctor," he commanded, almost teasingly. Neither of them laughed. "That's an order." 

_Don’t have to tell me twice._

Settling on his side, Stephen listened as the door closed and he was left in nothing but silence, only accompanied by the rhythmic beeping of his heart monitor. The image of a scared little kid resided in his head, but it slowly dissolved into nothingness as he closed his eyes. 

In less than 10 minutes, his mind had wandered off into a dreamless sleep. For the first time in his life, he was glad that he was drugged out of his mind. 

* * *

Dull hours sped before him as he rested in a barely lucid state. A few days had become a few _weeks_. Through his few moments of consciousness, he started developing a blurry schedule of his watch guards. The morning brought Tony, bored out of his goddamn mind, playing with his phone for most of his hours. The early afternoon brought Peter Parker, constantly muttering to himself and struggling to do his homework. The late afternoon brought Scott Lang, who was quiet most of the time, but also made sure that everything was comfortable, from the pillows, to the IV drip. Finally, the night brought in Steve, who did nothing but watch with an attentive eye. 

The next few days or so are disoriented blips, almost like a clipshow. He only got the bare basics of their routines, but he can still tell what each of them are thinking about. 

Tony wanted everything to be over, and Steve wanted everything to be okay. Simple enough, that fits both of them pretty well. 

Peter couldn’t focus on anything. Well, he was a teenager, he had plenty of things on his plate. How could he be expected to focus solely on someone else’s recovery? 

And then there was Scott. Scott could _only_ focus on him.

Of course. 

It brought Stephen some brief comfort that Scott still cared about him, even after what’s happened, but it also brought him guilt. He didn’t want to wake up with Scott by his side, because with him also brought every single feeling he’s been working to force down ever since their lovely night. 

He thought about what he might say to Scott. Indistinct muttering definitely wasn’t out of the question, but he couldn’t help but entertain the idea of a true conversation between them. It’s dumb, he has to admit, to think Scott would want to have a genuine conversation with him again. But still, he cared. 

The world is constantly spinning whenever he briefly opens his eyes, whenever he gets a moment alone with his thoughts. The only time he feels peacefully still is when his mind is at an absolute blank. 

* * *

The next time he fully woke up, the sun was shining through his window yet again. He blinked his eyes, trying to get used to the sudden light. He heard the sound of a pencil scratching paper as he awoke. Lifting his head, he could see Peter Parker sitting next to the table to the right of his bed, holding his head in exasperation. He cycled between scribbling something on his notebook, then looking at his phone. Then his notebook, then his phone. Notebook, phone, notebook, phone, notebook...

With his head spinning from the constant pattern, Stephen thought it would’ve been best to just stay quiet and go back to resting, but he couldn’t help but release a natural groan. The motion stopped, with Peter quickly turning his head to notice he was awake. 

“Hi, Doc…” his voice quavered, a twinge of embarrassment in his tone. “I’m sorry, did I wake you up? I can be quieter--”

“You’re fine, Parker,” Stephen replied, weakly lifting an assuring hand. “I’m alright.”

Peter looked at him awkwardly for a few more minutes before going back to his homework. Letting his head settle back in his pillow, he closed his eyes and tried to sink back into his mind. But as the sound of pencil writing on paper continued, he realized that once he heard it, he couldn’t focus on anything else but that noise. 

It started to grate his nerves. He tried to focus on something else, but his mind always came back to that simple sound. He hated that he was so annoyed by such a harmless act, but he couldn’t help it. He needed it to end. 

“Stop,” he said, covering his eyes with his hand. 

The young hero looked up faster than words can say. He looked a little frightened, worried that he might’ve offended him in some way. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked nervously. 

“Just...just stop.” Turning his head, Stephen motioned towards the pencil in his hands. “Please. It’s getting on my nerves.”

Looking at the pencil in his hands, Peter abruptly let go of it. The pencil clattered to the floor, causing Stephen to wince. 

“Peter, calm down, you’re fine--” 

“Shit, I’m sorry!” he shrieked, quickly bowing down to grab it. “I promise I can be--” 

“I said you’re _fine_ , just drop it.”

With the pencil back in his hands, Peter looked at Stephen nervously, his face reminiscent of a wounded animal. Stephen noticed the panic in his eyes and a wave of guilt washed over him. The realization that neither of them were okay began to settle in, and his own exasperated expression softened. 

“I’m sorry for apolog--” Peter started, only to be interrupted by a strict finger. 

“Parker,” Stephen said sternly, though maintaining a calm composure. “What’s wrong?” 

He watched Peter pause for a moment before fumbling over his words for a few seconds. The teen eventually took a deep breath, grabbed his notebook, and walked over to his bed. 

“I can’t get this question right,” Peter explained, sticking the notebook in his face. “I keep doing everything I can, but I can never get the right answer.” 

Stephen looked up to examine Peter’s formula, amidst a sea of frustrated doodled as hearted initials. He wasn’t entirely sure if this was the reason he was so jittery, but if he needed help on his math homework, the least he could do was help. Taking the paper into his quivering hands, he carefully dissected the equation, taking as much time as he needed to find a possible ans- 

“X equals 15.9.”

He handed the notebook back to Peter without another word. Peter, eyes wide, looked down at the equation, then at Stephen, then back at the equation. He blinked in utter bewilderment, the only words coming to mind being a chain of three. 

“What the fuck?”

Stephen suddenly coughed into his fist, not expecting those words (of all words) to spill out of his mouth.

_“Parker!”_

“I’m sor-- I just--” he couldn’t acknowledge what he just said. He was too in awe at how swiftly he found the answer. He shoved the notebook back under his nose. “How the hell did you get that so fast?” 

The answer came to Stephen’s mind almost instantly, but he hesitated to speak. 

“My brother took trig in college,” he said at last, ending with a swallow. A brief smile appeared on his face, and though he’d deny it, Peter could’ve sworn he chuckled for a moment. “I helped him cheat.” 

The teen offered him his notebook and pencil again. “Can you teach me how you got it?” 

Stephen eyed him, surprised at his sudden energy, then nodded. Why not? It was better than a dreamless sleep, at least. 

“Okay, first you want to find sin(90)...” 

He guided him through the problem step by step. He watched as Peter grew more comfortable with the equations and eventually began to understand his words. 

“Holy shit, I might pass trigonometry this year!” he said, an excited smile on his face. “I might get into a good college!” 

“You’re an active Avenger who personally knows Tony Stark,” Stephen brought up. “I really don’t think a trigonometry grade is gonna hold you back from getting into a good college.”

“You don’t understand, I have been stressing out about this for weeks! Thank you, Doctor Strange. Oh, uh, is there anything I can do to repay you?” 

He shrugged his shoulders, at a loss for words. “I don’t know, I could use some apple juice or something--”

“Right away!” 

Before he could say another word, Peter was out of his sight. He could tell something was up with him, still. He was far too anxious, far too jittery than normal. Sure, he was a high-schooler, but right now he lacked the confidence that Spider-Man had in the face of danger. 

He was concerned for him. It was a brief moment, but he had begun to think of him as if he were a brother. 

* * *

Darkness overtook him once again, so quickly that he couldn’t even remember when he passed out. Truth be told, it felt less like he was sleeping and more like he was half-awake. He couldn’t tell if a dreamless sleep was better than one full of nightmares. At least the nightmares assured him he was still alive, somewhat. 

“Strange?”

A hushed whisper brought him closer to his senses. Lifting his head to his right, he saw Scott Lang in the chair next to him, watching dutifully.

“Lang?” 

Out of the corner of his eye, near the table across his bed, he saw Peter’s backpack rested against a chair. His immediate instinct was to get out of bed, not even thinking about how he’d manage to get the backpack or how he’d get it to Peter in his state. The moment he set foot on the cold tiles, he nearly collapsed. Scott held onto his shoulders in an instant. 

“Woah, what’re you doing?” 

Stephen lifted a frail finger. “Parker left his backpack--”

“I’ll call him, I’ll call him,” Scott assured, helping him get back into bed. “Just stay here, okay?”

He wanted to protest, but he could barely focus on anything now. He was tired. He couldn’t fight against it anymore. 

Watching Scott grab the backpack and exit the room, Stephen couldn’t help but admire him. But soon he buried that thought deep in his mind as he passed out. 

* * *

The room was dark when he opened his eyes again. He could see the TV in the top corner of the room lighting the walls up with a rerun of some random game show. His body was still aching all over. He squirmed in his mattress, attempting to get comfortable as best as he could. 

“You still look pale,” a familiar voice brought up. “You’ve been sleeping well, right?”

Stephen turned his head to see Scott in the chair right next to him, mindlessly watching the TV. 

He scoffed. “What’s it to you?” 

Scott looked at him with a concerned expression. “I just want to know you’re alright.”

His mind drew a blank. He swallowed thickly. Of course he wasn’t sleeping well. But that was normal for him. He’d be astonished if he was able to go through a sedative-free sleep _without_ any nightmares. But he couldn’t admit that, to either of them. He already spent weeks pushing Scott away, he couldn’t create an excuse to invite him back into his life. 

“Yes, I have been sleeping,” he croaked. “More than ever, really.” 

Scott nodded, looking intrigued by even the shortest of sentences. “What do you dream about?”

“Nothing, really,” Stephen lied with a shrug. “I think the drugs dulled them.” 

“That’s lucky. Have you been eating? Drinking?”

“When I can keep it down, yeah,” he snickered. 

He noticed him scowl at his “joke”, as always. To think there was ever a time when their roles were reversed-- where Scott was the one cracking jokes and Stephen was the one frowning. 

“You need to take better care of yourself, more than ever,” he urged. Stephen couldn’t help but feel oddly comforted by those words. Even after all that’s happened, Scott still cared about him. 

“I know, I know,” he replied “We don’t have to have this conversation every time.” 

Scott took a moment for himself, his eyes traveling up and down Stephen’s weakened body. It felt intrusive, like his eyes could see every worn-out scar, every protruding bone. 

“How are your hands?” he asked at last. 

With a bored huff, Stephen lifted his hand not for Scott to examine, but to wave off his concern. 

“Shouldn’t you call Parker? Let him know he left his backpack?” 

He stared at him and, surprisingly, chuckled for the first time since they met again. 

“I already told him,” he affirmed. “That was 2 hours ago, Stephen. Go back to sleep.” 

He lifted the blanket over Stephen’s shoulders and, without intention of doing so, tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. The subconscious gesture made him blush, and he hoped the darkness of the room concealed it. 

He didn’t want to admit it. He never wanted to admit that not only had he caught feelings for Scott Lang, but he was still holding onto them. It felt mortifying. Normally, he hated reflecting on the days they spend together in his bed, the nights they shared with sweet passion. He adored those memories, but all they brought today was bitter melancholy. But tonight, as Scott watched over him attentively, he dreamed not of the Dark Dimension or the noisy truck of a busy intersection, but of them 

Him and Scott. The two of them, holding each other together all those months ago...

* * *

_The first time he shared a moment with any fellow hero was on the way home from a mission. It was one of the earliest instances of him cooperating with the Avengers, but even with the team behind his back he still left the battlefield exhausted. All he remembered on the ride home (after basically passing out seconds after the fight ended) was being trapped in a pit of eternal darkness. That was, until, he was brought out of the abyss by a warm voice._

_“Good morning.”_

_Stirring, Stephen opened his eyes with a dull groan. The first thing he noticed was that he was not laying down on a cot like he thought he was. He was actually sitting upright, his back against the wall. The second and much more mortifying thing he noticed was that his head was resting on a shoulder, and that shoulder belonged to a head that was staring down at him._

_Stephen flinched, pulling away from him as fast as he could upon realizing he had, in fact, passed out on him._

_“Was I disturbing you? I apologize, I’ll just--”_

_His anxieties were calmed by a brisk hand meeting his. To his surprise, his face was void of any indignation. In fact, he looked quite humored by the act._

_“No, no, it’s okay. You had a long day,” he assured, stroking his hands. Stephen felt his face heat up by the contact. “I saw you out there, blasting enemies left and right, making sure everybody was okay. You were extraordinary”_

_He took his hand away from Stephen’s and brought it up to brush against his cheek. He lowered Stephen’s head back to his shoulder gently. Stephen couldn’t help but feel enamored with...whatever was happening._

_“My name is Scott, by the way,” he revealed. “Scott Lang.”_

_Scott Lang, huh? He had heard the name Scott Lang before around the Compound. But he probably would never predict that their first meeting would be anything like this._

_Stephen looked up at Scott momentarily, on the verge of falling back asleep._

_“Stephen Strange.”_

_He settled into Scott’s shoulder, letting his eyes close once again. Although he was only half-conscious at that point, he could vividly remember Scott caressing his shoulder as he fell back into a deep sleep._

_From there, something special began to bloom between them._

* * *

_Their “something” was meant to stay secret. Both of them agreed on that front. It wasn’t that they were ashamed or anything, they just didn’t know how their teammates would react. That, and also that Stephen didn’t even know how to classify their “something”. Was it an affair? A fling? A “friends with benefits” situation?_

_He had no doubt that he loved Scott, and something in him told him that Scott loved him too. But just as both of them held mutual love for one another, both of them also held mutual doubt that it’d last forever._

_It was the sunny aftermath of a pleasure-filled night, Stephen recalled, about a few months after their first encounter. Stephen rested his head on Scott’s chest, breathless, taking in the love that was in the air. He thought it would just be a normal night-- Scott came over for the night, then would leave in the morning with no detection. It had become a routine at that point._

_That was until Scott broke the silence._

_“We should tell someone.”_

_Stephen looked up at Scott and raised an eyebrow. What good would breaking their cover do? If anything, all it would do was complicate things._

_“Who?" He inquired. "Stark? Rogers? Banner?”_

_Scott stroked his cheek mindlessly and shrugged._

_“Well, we can’t exactly keep whatever this is a secret forever, can we?”_

_Stephen sat up, the moment of intimacy ruined, and sighed. He stared out the large window of his room, gazing at the bright sun that shimmered through the glass pane._

_“What is this?” he asked, still facing away from Scott. “What do you want from this?”_

_Scott proceeded to sit up as well, going over to wrap his arms around Stephen’s chest._

_“I want to hold you every day in my arms without fear,” he began, pressing his lips against his neck. “I want to hold your head and kiss you a million times. I want to do that thing where we walk together during a starry night and we look up at the midnight sky and sigh.”_

_He looked at him with a look in his eyes, a look that wished for acknowledgement. Unfortunately, he didn’t get any, as the sorcerer was still staring out of the window in a thoughtless haze. He let one hand slide down to Stephen’s and held it gently._

_“I want a life with you, Stephen,” he admitted._

_And like that, Stephen recoiled.Pulling away from Scott’s grasp, maneuvering his legs onto the side of his bed, he sank deep into contemplation. They were making a grave mistake, he thought. Every single relationship he had ended in sorrow-- he didn’t want to give him anything like that._

_“You don’t want a life with me,” he confessed. He tilted his head in his direction, only momentarily peeking at his face through the corner of his eye. He looked crestfallen by his words. Nevertheless, Stephen continued. “People have described me as ‘insufferable’, ‘reckless’, ‘self-sabotaging.’ I’m a mess, Scott, plain and simple.”_

_He felt Scott’s hand creep up to his yet again with no hesitation. He took his hand, scars and all, into his own without any words. Stephen didn’t want to admit it, but it made his heart skip a beat._

_“Well, then, I’ll be a part of your mess,” Scott announced confidently, smiling like an idiot. It was one of the things that always managed to charm Stephen, no matter what. Though his heart told him otherwise, he allowed himself to smile back._

_“Get dressed,” he told him, eyes scanning his bare legs. “I’d prefer you not arrive at a professional debriefing in nothing but your boxers.”_

_With a chuckle, Scott got out of his bed and stretched his arms out wide. Stephen followed quickly...almost too quickly. The instant he got up, the world almost flickered out, making him dizzy. He swayed briefly, hand shooting to the side of his head. He had to grab the edge of his bed frame to keep himself upright. In this moment of vertigo, he didn’t notice Scott rush to his side with a concerned gaze._

_“You need to take some more time for yourself,” he placed his hands on his shoulders, the relaxed tone in his voice disappearing. “I can’t tell if that rasp in your voice is natural anymore.”_

_Stephen looked up at him, almost falling into his grasp. As tempting as passing out right then and there on his chest was, he opted to dig his feet into the ground and stand up on his own, as if to prove he could take care of himself. He flicked Scott’s hands away, pointing half-heartedly to the clothes scattered around the ground._

_“We’re gonna be late.”_

_Scott didn’t break eye contact with him. He just placed his hands on his cheeks slowly and pulled him into a swift kiss. It was sudden, but Stephen didn’t complain. He never complained. He just leaned right into the kiss, hoping he wouldn’t end up toppling over._

_When Scott pulled away, he kept his hands on Stephen’s face. Stephen didn’t know if it was intimacy or the fear of him almost fainting again, but he didn’t mind. His hands were nice and warm when brushed against his cold skin._

_“Take a break soon,” Scott said. “Promise?”_

_Stephen plastered on the best smile he could and lied through his teeth._

_“Promise.”_

* * *

_He would later break his promise only 3 weeks afterwards following a truly horrendous mission. Or rather, 4 or so truly horrendous consecutive missions, no breaks in-between._

_Emerging from a monster filled dimension, Stephen practically collapsed against the wall the moment he stepped through his portal. Covered in sweat and blood, he could barely keep his eyes open as he navigated through the Avengers HQ. He only had one thought running through his mind: get to the medbay._

_He trudged through the hallway with an obvious limp, not paying attention to the trail of blood he was leaving behind him. Was it his or the monster's? Didn't matter-- he'd clean it up later. What he had to focus on right now was getting to the medbay and healing up without anyone noticing or falling to his feet._

_Each minute proved the task to be more difficult than he expected. Pain flared through every limb of his body, weakening him by the second. He hoped nobody saw him as he struggled to make it to the medb--_

_“Stephen?"_

_Shit._

_Stephen tensed up but tried to continue walking, ignoring the fact that he was glued to the wall in a mess of blood. He didn't realize how much he was swaying until he felt Scott's hands on his shoulders, keeping him in place._

_"Hey, hey, Stephen, you’re not looking too good.”_

_Though he wanted to chide him on his obvious observation, the growing agony in his head left his thoughts scattered. He felt himself grow dizzy and he almost collided right then and there. Despite this obvious display of weakness, he looked up at Scott and attempted to play dumb._

_“Lang?" He swatted away his hand as if he were a stranger. "What are you doing--?”_

_“What does it look like I'm doing? I'm taking you to the medbay, you’re--”_

_With a rasped groan, Stephen stepped away from him and tried to continue down the hall. Keyword was "try."_

_“I’m fine.”_

_He only got about 5 centimeters towards his goal when Scott grabbed his wrist._

_“You promised me you were gonna take a break.”_

_Stephen flinched, raising his fingers to his temple. Did he have to be so loud? All he was doing was increasing his migraine…_

_“Can you please lower your voice?" He huffed, lowering his head. "I’m telling you, I am...am…”_

_As he drifted off, a familiar sensation of vertigo possessed him._

_"Is it just me, or is the room spinning?"_

_He started to sway again, his eyes widening with realization that he had lost control of his own body. He grappled at his fleeing consciousness, but it was inevitable. He was tumbling down, down, down…_

_He felt his body go limp as he collapsed to the ground. The last thing he heard was a panicked "STEPHEN?!" as his eyes closed._

* * *

_He woke up just a few moments later in the medbay. His mind took a good 10 seconds to recollect what just happened. The next 10 seconds were spent processing where he was. He took in his surroundings, noting specifically that he was all alone in the room._

_Oh. And Scott was there too. Watching over him._

_Great._

_“What did I say?” Scott asked with a rare sternness._

_Stephen tried to sit up, but his arms fell under his weight, much to his and Scott’s chagrin._

_“Good morning,” he exhaled, a noticeable rasp in his voice._

_“No, not ‘good morning,’” he replied with a fierce glare in his eyes. “What did I say?”_

_“About what?” Stephen asked, eyes almost closing again. He knew exactly what Scott was talking about, but he just didn’t have the ability to respond fully. The room was still spinning, and his mind wasn’t present at all._

_“About this!” he sharply motioned to his body._ _“You’re not taking care of yourself, Stephen. It’s almost like you don’t even care.”_

_With a bitter chuckle, Stephen somehow mustered the strength to sit up ever so slightly. He looked away from Scott, clutching his arm._

_“You’re not entirely wrong.”_

_Taking a moment to process the response, Scott’s somber expression quickly turned into one of concern. He suddenly noticed a melancholic glint in Stephen’s eye. He sat down on his mattress, close enough to comfort him, but far enough not to invade his desired personal space._

_“How long?”_

_Stephen shrugged, caressing the bruises painting his arm._

_“3 months, or so.”_

_He could hear Scott tap his fingers against the bed and wished that he would stop. Stop worrying, stop doting, just stop...stop everything._

_“I’ll tell Cap that you need some time for yourself,” Scott announced. It wasn’t a query nor a suggestion. It was a statement._

_Stephen gripped his arm tightly. He hated when Scott did this. He hated being pitied, being coddled. He wasn’t some fragile little boy. He could take care of himself._

_He turned to Scott with a newfound energy surging through his chest._

_“Suicidal thoughts aren’t an excuse to slack off!”_

_“Yeah, well, they should at least be an excuse to take a break,” Scott retorted, turning around just as quickly. They could see the pain in each other’s eyes; emotional and physical. “Look at you, Stephen. You’re pale. You look like--”_

_“Like what? Like a mess?”_

_“You haven’t been eating, have you? Or drinking. I can tell.”_

_“Oh, applause to the doctor!”_

_Scott opened his mouth to shoot back, but he went silent. He tensed up at Stephen’s words, a chord struck. As heated as he was, Stephen still felt regret for what he said. He knew that these couples’ spats were out of concern for each other, not out of hate._

_“Scott.”_

_He didn’t respond._

_“I’m sorry.”_

_He looked away._

_“Scott, you know I love you--”_

_“And I love you too,” he turned to Stephen, his eyes softening. All that vexation had washed away. Replaced with simple dejection. “That’s entirely what I’m trying to say, but you’re just so reckless all the time.”_

_Stephen sat in thought. Scott was right. He was reckless, plain and simple. Over and over again, he’s tried to be better, but nothing ever came of it._

_He looked at Scott, saddened by the tiredness in his eyes. He was wearing himself out caring for him, and what was he getting in return? Nothing. Maybe a kiss goodnight every now and then, but other than that, it was a completely unequal relationship._

_He was sucking him dry. He was a leech, he realized. That didn’t mean he didn’t love Scott-- that just meant that he needed to let him go._

_“I think we need to call this off.”_

_Scott turned around, eyes wide with shock._

_“What? N-no, we don’t have to--”_

_“Scott--”_

_Stephen tried to get up from bed, but as his feet touched the ground he immediately went tumbling down. Scott caught him just in time, mumbling reassurances left and right. He could tell Scott was pleading with him to stay, even after what they’ve just been through. But that was that. His mind was made up._

_Getting back into bed, he sighed._

_“I think we need to call this off,” he repeated. “It’s for the best.”_

_Scott didn’t debate anymore. He knew he wasn’t getting anywhere._

_“_ **_You_ ** _were the best.”_

_He leaned down, brushing Stephen’s hair away from his forehead, and kissed him one last time._

_“Get well soon.”_

_Stephen watched Scott walk out of the medbay, at a loss for words. He wanted to call him. He wanted to apologize. But deep down, he knew the damage was already done. Nothing could change that._

_His head sunk into the pillows as the door shut and he was finally left alone._

_And just like that, Scott was gone._

* * *

That night had been just like every other night-- the same, typical nightmares and the same, typical lines. 

_“I’ve come to bargain.” “You’ve come to die.” “I’ve come to bargain.” “You’ve come to die.” “I’ve come to--”_

“Strange--”

In his sleep, he felt someone trying to shake him awake. 

“Strange, wake up.” 

For a moment, he was still caught in the dreamland he conjured. When the voice from reality finally registered, he was granted peace and tore away from the nightmare. He shot up from his mattress in a dazed state, sweat beading down his forehead. 

“Fuck-- fuck-- god _damnit--”_

His hands raced to his chest, the remnants of his dream still vivid in his memory. He could still see the blazing violet eyes burning above him. In the middle of his panicked state, he felt a pair of familiar hands rest on his shoulders, steadying him. 

“Hey, hey, calm down,” a warm voice centered him in reality. “You were just having a nightmare. I guess the drugs are starting to mellow, huh?” 

One of the hands raised to his head, stroking his hair in an attempt to calm him down. The intimacy pulled him out of his state. He recognized this gesture.

Blinking his eyes, the voice registered to Stephen at last. He looked up at Scott, confused at his presence. The room was covered in darkness, it was nearing midnight currently. This wasn’t his shift. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked, his voice gravelly. 

Scott’s eyes widened briefly. 

“Steve had an emergency so I offered to fill in for him,” he blurted out quickly. Stephen could tell he was lying through his teeth, but chose not to comment on it. “Do you need anything? Water? Food?” 

“No, no, I’m fine,” Stephen said, waving off his offers with a flick of his hand. He sank back into his pillow, turning onto his side. 

He could feel Scott’s eyes on him, gazing at him with concern. He brushed his hand into his hair one last time. Stephen wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he missed it. It was comforting, even now, when they weren’t even together. 

“Go back to sleep,” Scott whispered softly. “Try to think happy thoughts.” 

Stephen’s eyes slowly closed. With his last instance of consciousness, he had one remaining thought. 

_Easy for you to say._

* * *

It’s nearly 3 AM the next time Stephen wants out again. 

Days had come and gone. He tutored Peter in the late morning, and sat in awkward silence with Scott in the afternoon. It felt like purgatory. The world was moving around him, and he was left to watch it go. 

He hated it. He hated every single bit of it. He hated being reminded of someone he couldn’t save. He was exhausted from having to face a reminder of his inability to love. He needed _out_.

It was the dead of night. He couldn’t go back to sleep-- no, he _refused_ to sleep -- out of fear of seeing that face once again. He knew Steve can’t stay awake all night, no matter what serum he was injected with, so he waited him out. 

The clock ticked with arduous slowness. A second felt like a millennia. Exhaustion creeped at the back of Stephen’s head, but he forced himself to remain awake. Eventually, he heard Steve snoring gently in the seat beside his cot. Now was the time. 

He climbed out of his mattress, as quietly as a mouse. His legs still felt weak under his weight, but his willpower proved stronger. As he settled on solid ground, his eyes surveyed the scene, landing on the window on the other side of the room. With one hand pressed against the wall, he kept his sights on that escape. He couldn’t focus on anything else. Steve was all but a hypothetical scenario now-- he was gonna be free, he just knew it. 

But with his eyes focused on the window, he failed to see the chair in his way. He stumbled, too lost in his mind to react, only realizing what had just happened once he heard the noisy creak of the wooden leg. 

To his horror, Steve jolted awake from the noise. 

“Str-Strange?” Blinking his eyes open, his vision started to clear up the moment he saw Stephen out of bed, eyes stricken with fear like a deer in the headlights. And like a creature in the middle of the night who didn’t want to be seen, he panicked. 

Abandoning all sense of thought, he practically threw himself to the window, grappling to undo the hinge. His hands flared up, but he refused to acknowledge the stinging. 

Right as the pane flew open and the cold fresh air rushed through his face, something delicately tugged at his wrist. 

“Strange,” Steve commanded, voice unfaltering. “You need to get to bed.” 

“Let me out!” He yelled, fighting against Steve’s grasp. “I’m fine! I’m perfectly, undeniably, FINE!” 

“You aren’t going to fly if you jump out that window-- you’re gonna fall and plant yourself in here for 5 more weeks!” He rarely raised his voice, but this time it seemed like now or never. “Get back in bed.” 

That one word-- fly --stuck out to him. To fly. To fly away from this realm. What an odd idea. Of course he couldn’t “fly” anywhere. He didn’t have the Cloak at the moment, his magic was out of commission at the moment, and…

And…

“Rogers--” 

“Get back in bed--”

“This isn’t about flying.” 

Steve’s face softened out of confusion. “What?” 

Using this brief moment of stupefaction, Stephen gripped the edge of the window and, with all of his strength, hoisted himself toward it. He threw one last look over his shoulder at Steve and grinned sadly.   
  
“I haven’t flown in a long time.”

“Strange?” 

A momentary euphoria swept through Stephen as the midnight breeze washed over him. It was as enchanting as a voice-- a siren calling out for him. Ignoring Steve’s pleas and fighting through his grip, he brought himself closer, closer to the edge. He leaned forward, waiting for the voice to speak to him again. 

“STRANGE?!” 

And then, with a blissful smile, he let go. 

* * *

Light wailed into his eyes the moment he came to. For once, his body was relaxed, free of any and all nerves that might’ve existed. 

When Stephen opened his eyes, he was flying. Or, well, he was floating. The ground below him had disappeared, replaced with an endless pink void. When he looked around him, all he saw were clouds beyond the horizon. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to make sense of the world around him. 

“I’m not in Kansas anymore.” 

A faint whistle came from behind him. He turned around, only to be met with nothingness. The whistle, however, repeated itself. He walked along the rosy sky, mesmerized at the way he was soaring. He had no cloak, no robes. He had no spells at his fingertips. All he was was a normal man dressed in a grey t-shirt, a jacket, and some slacks. For once, there was nothing truly strange about him. 

Although he had grown comfortable with his new life, he didn’t hesitate to admit to himself that he missed being ordinary. He missed the calm atmosphere of Nebraska, the aroma of the garden. He missed being with his family most of all. 

When he was Strange, he had to present himself as capable of taking on the world. But everyday it felt like it was out of his hands. He was lonely. He was so, so, _so_ goddamn lonely. So he invited this whistle. He approached it with open arms, hoping that some sort of company would arrive with it. 

In the distance, after minutes of aimless walking, he saw a silhouette. A portrait of a young woman, innocent and petite, eyes wide, face turned away from him. The closer he rushed towards her, the more he saw of her. She had long, damp dark hair that fell down her back, staining her ocean blue dress.

All of a sudden, she looked at him. Stephen stopped in his tracks almost instantly. 

“Stevie?” 

Donna was standing there, at the edge of the world. Her dress was dripping wet, but it was like she didn’t even notice. The first thing she did was smile and race towards her brother.

“Stevie, it’s you!” She beamed, jumping into a hug. She knocked the air out of his chest, but Stephen soon returned her embrace. He held onto her, still in disbelief that this was her. This was _her._ He knows it’s foolish to think that this is _actually_ her, but she’s so real. 

Donna pulled away from the hug and looked up at him, placing a hand on his face. 

“Why are you here?” She asked, her tone suddenly interrogative. “You’re far too early. It’s not your time yet.” 

“I- I don’t know,” Stephen chuckled, his head light. A smile flickered on his face, matching hers. “I just woke up here, and I--” 

“Oh, oh, oh!” She interrupted, each word clicking off her tongue. “Have you been worrying about us again? I thought I told you to take better care of yourself, but now you look skinnier than ever! Tsk, tsk, tsk...” 

“But I wanted to see you again…” 

“The reunion can wait. You have a job to do.” 

“Besides,” another familiar voice said. “You still need to do some helping back down there.”

From the abyss, a young man approached. 

Stephen turned around and locked eyes with him. He had his father’s eyes, his mother’s smile. He was Victor Strange, the same young man-- young _boy_ \--that ran straight into traffic right before his eyes. He was all grown up now, and yet Stephen could barely tell him apart from his baby brother. For a moment, he almost looks _exactly_ like Peter. 

He nearly choked once he realized this wasn’t a dream. “Victor?” 

“Hi, Stephen,” Victor’s shoulders were relaxed. He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world. Before he could even ask, Victor pulled him into a hug. “You sure have missed us.”

Wrapping his arms around his chest, he held him tight and refused to let go. Words had escaped him, replaced with pure wonder. 

He felt tears stinging his eyes. This couldn’t be real. No, no, this couldn’t be real. It was all he could ever want. 

“Truly is a selfish thing, however,” Donna perked up all of a sudden, grasping his shoulder. “Trying to fly away.”

Eyes widening, Stephen turned to his sister, who was just looking at him with bright eyes. He almost didn’t register what she said. _Selfish_. 

“Wh-What?” 

“You didn’t think we would let you stay here, did you?” Victor pulled away, still smiling. “We couldn’t just let you abandon your responsibilities. You’ve got a job to do!” 

“Yeah!” Donna didn’t sound friendly anymore. Her voice was uncanny, void of any emotion other than joy. Her grip on his shoulder had tightened, feeling more like a pull than a tug. “You can’t make Scott sad, now can you?” 

“Or Peter,” Victor placed a hand on his other shoulder, spinning him so he was facing away from them. “Peter’s been worrying about you for the past month. You can’t let him down now.” 

What was this? This couldn’t be a dream, Stephen thought. It was far too specific-- far too realistic. Was it a nightmare? No, nightmares weren’t subtle. They didn’t have time to ease into horror, they had to use all the time they had to break his mind. This was far worse than a nightmare. It was something he couldn’t describe at all. 

“You can’t keep flying every time you want to make us happy!” Victor laughed, pushing him forward. “Go back down there. Go. Go!” 

“No, no, wait!” Stephen pleaded, trying to make some sort of sense of this dreamscape. But they didn’t hear him. 

“Bye bye, Stevie!” Donna sang, her tone more fitting for a family parting than whatever was happening right now. 

“Be patient,” Victor continued, just as cheerful. “We’ll be waiting for you!” 

The two sunk their nails into his shoulders and pushed him beyond the edge of his brief heaven. 

So with a simple shove, he was taken out of this peaceful realm against his will and plunged back into reality. 

* * *

Blaring through his ears as he returned to consciousness was the sound of an active heart monitor. 

_“...he’s back…”_

_“...shit, has he gotten that bad?...”_

_“...what’s wrong?...”_

Stephen came to while lying on his bed. A thousand voices cluttered his mind, all from different kinds of times and places. He blinked his eyes open and saw a bunch of people’s faces looking down at him. But none of them looked familiar. 

“Victor...?” he rasped out. It was the first thought that came to his head. “Where’s Victor?” 

The people around him gazed at each other, confused. 

“Who’s Victor?” 

“Victor,” Stephen tried to sit up, despite the weakness of his muscles. A barrage of hands tried to set him back down, but he refused. “Have you seen him? I swore I just saw him--” 

“Mister Strange, you need to go back to sleep--” 

He could feel their arms forcing him back down, but he couldn’t relent. He needed to find him. He needed to make sure he was okay. 

“Victor!” He cried out again, almost hurling himself off of the mattress. Before he knew it, a pair of fingertips found their place on his temple.

“Sleep…” a woman whispered. And before he knew it, he was gone yet again. 

* * *

It was practically a cycle, he mused to himself once he was fully conscious again. He’d wake up in the hospital, his body present but his mind somewhere else, before being sedated. It was only then he would wake up lucid with both the memories of the night before, and the embarrassment of his delirious actions. 

As he went through the standard check-ins and discussions about what procedures he’d have to go through, he couldn’t help but think about how his heart raced as he climbed through the window. He couldn’t mimic the feeling of that adrenaline if he wanted to. But even then, he couldn’t say if he liked it or not. In the moment, of course he did, it was exhilarating! 

But after now, after all of what’s happened, could he really say he still wanted to jump? 

The door creaked open, as always, and Peter stepped through with his backpack slung over his shoulder. He staggered as he walked, exchanging a quick glance at Stephen before immediately looking back to the ground. 

“Hey, Strange,” he attempted to sound casual as he set aside his backpack and sat down in his usual chair. 

Stephen nodded at him, studying him closely. “Morning, Parker.” 

“Thanks for letting me know about my backpack,” Peter chuckled awkwardly. “I didn’t even notice I had lost it, ha.” 

Today was unusual. His laughter seemed forced. His voice had an obvious quaver to it that Stephen didn’t know how to classify. He didn’t want to overstep his boundaries, however, so he decided not to acknowledge it. 

“No problem.” 

Silence struck the room just like that. Pursing his lips together, Peter stared out the window, as if trying to think of something to say. No confidence, no request for tutoring, just an anxious expression and sweat beading down his forehead. 

“So, how’re you feeling?” He suddenly perked up, forcing a smile onto his face. He didn’t even wait for Stephen to respond, he just wanted to fill the empty space. “Does anything hurt, do you need anything at all, do you want to call anyone, do you--” 

“Peter, are you okay?” 

Confusion clouding his face, an awkward chuckle escaped his lips as he tried to deflect. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that--?”

“Peter,” Stephen said sternly. “Look at me. Are you okay? You’re a smart kid, I don’t know how you wouldn’t know basic trigonometry-- no offense --or how you’d somehow overlook forgetting your entire backpack here. Especially since--” 

He pointed to the bundle of cloth jutting out of Peter’s unzipped pocket. 

“ --you like to stuff your entire costume in it.” 

Face flushing, Peter scrambled to stuff it back into his bag and quickly forced the zipper closed. “It’s convenient!” 

“Listen to me,” Stephen continued. “You’re overcompensating. You don’t need to ask me these questions every single day. Most of the time, I just want to be left alone. So, what’s wrong?” 

Peter was normally talkative. If he knew the answer, he’d blurt it out. If he didn’t know, he’d improvise. But right now, he was at a loss for words. Every so often his mouth would open as if he was about to speak, but no words came out. After minutes of contemplation, he found four words to describe what he had been thinking for the past month. 

“This is my fault.” 

Stephen’s eyes widened. He cocked an eyebrow. 

“What?” 

“This--” Peter gestured to him sitting in bed. “This is my fault. You jumped in front of the knife, you pushed me out of the way of the truck, I didn’t get you to the hospital in time-- you could’ve _died_ because of me!” 

Stephen raised a hand, trying to get him to relax. “Peter, listen--” 

“And I was supposed to save the day, but now you’re here!” Standing up, he started absentmindedly pacing the room as his anxieties came flooding out of his mouth like a waterfall. “And It’s not like I’m making anything better, and I’m failing math, and I have no idea what a goddamn cosine is--” 

“Peter--”

“Mr. Stark was right, I wasn’t ready!” He ran his fingers through his hair, a pained smile on his face. “I shouldn’t have gone on that mission with you! Maybe then you would be back on your feet, back in your house--”

_“YOU’RE 16 YEARS OLD!”_

Peter stopped in place. Stephen didn’t even realize how heavy his breathing was. He didn’t intend to scream, it just came out of him like that. He just couldn’t believe it-- this teenager was blaming himself for being saved. He looked so young. So, so young. He didn’t need this kind of pressure at this age. 

“Peter, you’re putting so much weight on your shoulders,” he explained softly. “You’re still just a kid. If you didn’t go on that mission with me, I could be dead. I’m sorry if you ever felt guilty for something out of your control.” 

Peter gazed at him, his expression dreary, not knowing what to do. Should he talk? Should he be quiet? Should he apologize again? Not knowing what to do, he just chose to sit back down and hold his head in his hands. 

“It’s been a rough couple of weeks,” he said at last. To his surprise, the good doctor laughed. Looking up, he saw Stephen...smiling. 

“Tell me about it,” he said, for once not tensed up. “Show me some of those math problems.” 

As Peter got out his notebook, Stephen began to relax. This was comforting, he had to admit, just spending an afternoon tutoring a young friend. He eyed the half-smudged problems in his notebook, pretending not to notice the barrage of hearts with two sets of initials nestled within them. 

Peter, however, noticeably still seemed off. Not too stressed or too absent-minded, but something in the way he drifted off every so often in his words made Stephen believe that he still had something on his mind. Not wanting to pry, he never asked. If Peter wanted to ask him something, he would. He didn’t need to be forced into it. 

A while passed, and eventually Peter made his decision. But it wasn’t a question Stephen would’ve anticipated. 

“Who’s Victor?” 

Face frozen, Stephen spaced out momentarily upon hearing him say that name.

He swallowed, unable to find the words to respond. 

“You called me Victor when you--” Peter paused hastily. “-- when you saved my life.” 

He brought a hand to his mouth, trying to comprehend his own feelings. He swallowed, then took a breath. 

“He was my little brother.” 

“Oh, the one you helped cheat?” 

He gave a small, amused nod. 

“He always had this bright smile, ever since he was a kid,” he laughed to himself as he reflected. “He really wanted to be an engineer when he grew up. Couldn’t stop talking to me about science and math and all that. He was bright-eyed--” he looked up at Peter, “--just like you.” 

Peter beamed, though tried to keep his smile to himself. 

“Where is he now?” He chirped. “I’m sure we could call him if you want to talk to him.” 

Smile falling, Stephen noticeably tensed as those memories faded away, his fingers tapping his blanket nervously. Facing the wall, he pursed his lips together as he attempted to finally explain what happened out loud. 

“I, uhm, I missed our parents’--” Don’t lie. Not again. “--funeral.” 

He wasn’t surprised when he turned back and saw Peter’s stunned face in response. 

“I missed our parents’ funeral,” he continued. “He was so pissed off, so he decided to fly out to New York to confront me. And I apologized, but I was such an egotistical prick back then. He wouldn’t take it, I don’t blame him. He’d already seen one member of the family die. He didn’t want to be the last one. So he ran into the street and...and he let himself get hit by a truck.” 

The memory was as vivid as the actual experience. He remembered the way Victor looked as he stormed out of his complex with a visceral rage. He could pinpoint the exact moment that rage flickered into shock, then fear, then acceptance, all in a moment’s notice. 

“I’m sorry…” Peter’s voice was soft and sympathetic, his arms wrapped around himself. 

Stephen pinched the bridge of his nose, taking in his own words. He couldn’t remember the last time he had to say it to someone else. 

And then he laughed. 

It was a tender little chuckle, but he couldn’t help it. The absurdity of it all-- his brother’s death. Even now it felt too surreal to be true. He laughed as if it were some sort of elaborate joke; it was like his brother was some master magician who managed to fake his death, and he was the only one in on the trick. 

He laughed until tears began to stream down his face. It was so fucking shitty of him to be laughing, and he knew that. But he never got to the stage Victor experienced as that truck collided with him. He never got to that point of acceptance. His entire life since then had been spent wading in unhealthy denial-- denial that he was in mourning. Denial that it had even _happened._

He was so caught up in his laughing that he almost didn't notice Peter walk up and wrap his arms around him. The hug was brief, but he invited it. He couldn’t push back help anymore, he had realized. He needed to let it in. 

He needed to open the door and let the world stop spinning. 

* * *

The next time he found Scott sitting next to his bed, he did his best to avoid his inevitable worried questions. But he knew that it could only be so long until Scott realized he was pretending to sleep. It must’ve been quite a conversation with his teammates, learning that his ex nearly climbed out the window to his death. Now he was here, and he couldn’t even talk to him. 

Guilt kept prodding the stern of his head. Scott was there, most likely brimming with inquiries, and he wasn’t allowing him in. He had just promised himself he wouldn’t sabotage himself anymore. Guess that didn’t last long. 

An audible sigh echoed through the room. “Stephen.” 

He hesitated, not wanting to face him. 

“Stephen, I want you to look at me.” 

Tense, he squeezed his eyes shut, exhaled, and finally rolled over to meet Scott’s face. He noticed the blatant unease in Scott’s eyes, though whether it was because of his wretched appearance or his dreary disposition was unknown to him. Reaching out his hand slightly, he looked at Stephen with a silent request. He responded with a consenting nod, allowing Scott to cup his face in his hand. 

A thumb rested on his cheekbone, lightly brushing the corner of his eye. He lifted his head and marginally rotated it, viewing him from all sides. Stephen missed these moments of intimacy, of tender care between them, and failed to hold back a grin. 

“You haven’t been sleeping well, have you?” Scott’s voice was low, dripping with concern. “I know you’re lying. You keep having nightmares, right?” 

“I don’t need to go to sleep to be haunted by my thoughts,” Stephen mumbled, half-jokingly. 

“Geez, that’s poetic.” “It’s _pathetic_.” 

Scott smirked at him. Stephen could tell he missed this as well. However, he could also tell he was just as weary as him. The disheveled hair, the rings under his eyes, the slack in his limbs all signified that he’d been making himself sick with worry. It was detestable, pulling yourself apart in response to someone else’s tragedy. But of course, Stephen couldn’t condemn him. He didn’t want to be a hypocrite, after all. 

His smirk didn’t last long. As soon as it dropped, what followed was a desperate plea. 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he whispered. “ _Please_. You can tell me anything, I promise you. Do you trust me?” 

They relayed this conversation many times, often in similar circumstances such as these, though not as drastic. Stephen couldn’t count how many times they had to do this in the middle of the night, lying next to each other. But he did just what he did those same nights; he sat up, looked Scott in the eye, and nodded. 

This time, it wasn’t hollow. It wasn’t an excuse for Scott to stop talking. The connection between them couldn’t be severed anymore-- it was time for them to patch things up. 

Scott gave him a delicate gaze, then spoke at last. “What do you see at night?” 

“Dormammu,” he answered. 

He’s repeated all the information before. The time he spent, over and over again, keeping it still. The outstanding colors of the dimensional sky that made him scream. The roaring voice chanting throughout his mind, even months after his victory. How his victory was practically one-sided. He won for the world, not himself. 

He didn’t need to repeat himself again. Scott had retained all of it ever since the first time it was explained to him. “And the Dark Dimension, I presume?” 

Nodding quietly, Stephen brought his knees to his chest like a frightened teenager. He felt a hand caress his shoulder comfortingly. He didn’t need attention at the moment, he just needed consolation, even if it was silent. 

“Anything else?” 

He glanced away, eyes closed, the dreams he viewed in the past months rushing through his vision like a train.

“Sometimes a lake,” he said. “Sometimes a crosswalk.”

Scott nodded solemnly, rubbing his shoulder. Normally, this would be all he said, and they would be alright with that. But Scott didn’t expect Stephen to face him again and continue. 

“I had a really odd dream a few days ago, actually,” he confessed. “I...I dreamt about my siblings, I think.”

Scott’s eyes widened. 

“I don’t know if it was a dream though,” Stephen shrugged, imagining the fantasy once again. “It felt so real. It was beautiful. I could feel the sky above my head, I felt the warmth of their hugs, and I...I don’t think I could say it was fake. It couldn’t be. They were talking to me, and I heard their voices, and I-- and…”

He didn’t recognize that he was shaking until he felt Scott wrap another arm around him. He melted into his embrace, suddenly going back to the time they used to spend like this at night. Absentmindedly, his hand slipped into Scott’s. 

“What did they say?” Scott asked, rubbing his thumb over his skin. 

“They said I didn’t belong there,” he continued. “That I wasn’t allowed to “fly away” with them, whatever that means.” 

He breathed out, pressing his head into Scott’s chest. The two of them contemplated the dream together in sweet, connected silence. He didn’t say anything as Scott began to caress his hair. He just hummed in bliss and continued to cling to him. 

“Maybe it wasn’t a dream,” Scott spitballed. “Maybe it was a vision.”

Stephen shrugged, not knowing what to believe anymore.

“Maybe.” 

The moment lasted endlessly between them. They remembered when they once considered the other simply a “friend with benefits”, where they expected the relationship to be revealed as hollow at some point. Preparing themselves for disappointment, imagine their surprise when they realized that they didn’t need the midnight sky or a breathless aftermath to discern their love. The moment continued with the both of them pondering their relationship with beautiful silence. 

So they let it be. 

“It isn’t your time yet, Stephen,” Scott broke the silence first, like always. “And I know that you’ve been hurting for months, and you don’t know who to go to, but we’re here for you. If you need help, please talk to me. I’m worried.”

Stephen wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what. 

“I made you something yesterday,” Scott said. “I’ve been working on it for a few months, actually, but I didn’t know when you’d want to see it.” 

Pulling away from Stephen, he brought out a bag to the side of his chair and set it onto the bed. Navigating through the colorful tissue paper, Stephen carefully pulled out a wide canvas and held it away to view it. 

And it was...it was the Dark Dimension. 

It was a sea of mystifying colors taken from his words. 

It was a bright, vivid environment filled with consoling silence. 

It was what once was a world he walked through in fear, translated into one of beauty and etherealness. 

Stephen brought a hand to his mouth, stunned at the painting and all its details. 

“It’s…” he struggled to find his words. “It’s lovely.” 

Resting his chin on his shoulder, Scott looked upon his painting with satisfaction. “I didn’t know if you’d like it or not. I wanted to give it to you for your birthday and, well, that passed so--” 

His words were cut off as Stephen spun his head to let their lips meet. The kiss was electrifying, just like how he remembered it. He felt Scott melt into it, grabbing his head into his hands as he took in his love. When they parted, they rested their foreheads against each other and listened to each other’s breaths. 

For a while, they were one once again. And it was perfect beyond all belief. 

Stephen kept his eyes closed as Scott brushed a strand of hair out of his face. ““What went wrong?” 

He shrugged. “I wasn’t ready, Scott. Every single relationship I’ve had resulted in me screwing everything up. I didn’t want to screw you up either.” 

He let himself open his eyes, his first sight being Scott staring back at him with a tender gaze. “You’re better now,” Scott assured him, his voice sweet as always. “I know that. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t a better person. But you still have a long way to go. The first step is communication.” 

He wanted to laugh again. Never did he think in a million worlds that he’d be accepted again. He didn’t laugh, nor did he cry, but he pulled Scott into an embrace. The feeling of his skin against his, his head on his shoulder, their hands intertwined was something he could finally say he wanted back. 

He wanted him back, more than ever now. More than eternity, more than the universe. More than anything beyond the stars. 

“I’m sorry,” he managed to say, speechless with euphoria. 

“I’m sorry too,” Scott replied, pecking him on the cheek. 

Stephen let tears slip from his eyes. “I love you.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he said that. Never did he think, after all these years, that he was actually capable of love. Every single instance he had with it resulted in tragedy, more often than not by his hands. It all seemed like an impossibility to him.

But as Scott soon proved, “impossible” was subjective at times.

“I know,” he exhaled, pulling back slightly to look at Stephen in his eyes. Cupping his face, he brushed his thumbs against the corners of his eyes, wiping his tears away. “I’ve missed you. I always have.” 

“I missed you too,” Stephen rested his hands on Scott’s. He wanted everything right now. He wanted him. He _never_ stopped wanting him. But mostly, _he_ wanted to be better, he wanted _them_ to be better. As he leaned into Scott’s neck, he exhaled heavily, feeling more tears spill down his face. “How about we take it slow this time?” 

Scott’s smile said more than he could say. “Works for me.”

He took Stephen into another kiss, almost pulling each other immediately after Scott stopped talking. Stephen brought his hands to his shoulders as Scott continued to hold his face. 

Their hearts soared, the world disappearing behind him, as they were caught in their own private universe. They saw constellations circling around them, galaxies encasing this moment in their grasp. No laws of time applied here-- the moment truly felt like an eternity. 

But of course, it had to end. The door creaked open, and before the two of them could reel themselves back into reality and pretend everything was normal, a shocked Peter Parker was already in the doorway. 

The two of them stared back, similarly wide-eyed and flushed. A mortified expression was plastered on the teen’s face, coated with a bright red blush. The silence was thick and abundant, awaiting who would break it first. 

“...Hi, Parker,” Stephen finally muttered, waving his hand awkwardly. Scott, not knowing what to do, mimicked him. 

“H-Hi…” Peter said, nearly slipping as he stepped forward. “I, uhm, I just had to grab my pencil--”

He slipped to the floor on his way to the table, but barely reacted as he flailed to grab the pencil and make his way out the door. 

“I’ll leave you two alone now--!” 

The door slammed shut, leaving the two of them alone yet again. 

“Should we be worried?” Scott asked, keeping his eyes on the door. 

Shaking his head, Stephen let his hand crawl to Scott’s hip with an amused smile. 

“I don’t think so.” 

* * *

When the door opened mid-morning the next day, Stephen was prepared for another math lesson with the kid. He’d been healing extremely well for the past few days, he was surprised to discover his energy was at an all time high whenever he assumed his teacher role. But to his confusion, the one standing in the doorway was not Peter, but Scott. 

“Scott? It’s 11:30 AM. What are you doing here?” 

Scott shrugged, immediately travelling to the chair beside his bed. “Peter said he had an emergency. Asked me to take his place” 

An emergency. Looking out the window, he noted that the city didn’t look to be on fire or under attack. Along with that, Peter had barely mentioned any upcoming events. He seemed like the type to at least give him a heads-up without something as vague as an “emergency.” And why would he ask Scott specifically to-- 

It clicked. 

“ _Oh_ ,” Stephen said, voice low. “Did he?” 

He sent Scott a meaningful gaze. Confusion flickered upon his face, but the realization seemed to click for him just as quick as it did for Stephen. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. 

“I’ll ask again, should we be worried?” 

Stephen grinned. “It’s not like he’s gonna tell anyone, right?” He asked, shrugging. “You know, unless he wants to make a quick buck off the paparazzi.” 

Taking his words to heart, Scott settled back into his chair and looked at Stephen briefly. His brief worry soon melted into pleasure upon viewing Stephen’s content attitude. His skin had risen one shade above the sickly pale he’d grown used to, and he was looking more hydrated than usual. “I see you’ve been taking some advice,” he mused. He let his hand drift onto Stephen’s, clutching it on top of his blankets. “You’re looking better already.” 

Stephen gave Scott’s hand a small, manageable squeeze and leaned back. Scott, keeping his eyes on him, got up from his chair and walked over. He used his free hand to move a strand of hair out of his face, before caressing Stephen’s cheek. 

Barely able to contain himself, Stephen pulled Scott into a deep kiss, essentially pulling him onto his bed. They did their best not to get tangled in each other’s arms, considering how embarrassing it would be to be caught in public, but it was thrilling nonetheless. When they finally settled, Stephen’s head was pressed against Scott’s chest, his gown audibly crinkling as he tried to catch his breath. Scott ran his fingers through his hair as he held him in his arms for the first time in months. 

“What do you want to do today?” Scott whispered, peeking out the room to make sure nobody was watching. “We have the room to ourselves.” 

Stephen thought over it momentarily, but was unable to think of anything beyond remaining in this moment. This rare, beautiful moment. 

“Let’s stay like this,” he shut his eyes, letting his face fall into Scott’s shirt. “I’ve missed this.” 

And Scott obliged. 

* * *

“Hey, Doc!” Peter clammered through the door the next day with an unreal energy. “Sorry I wasn’t here yesterday, something came up--”

“Oh, really?” Stephen raised an eyebrow. “What was it?” 

Immediately, that high energy disappeared. Peter froze where he stood, looking around the room to try and come up with some sort of excuse. Stephen didn’t say anything. He just waited with a patient smile for him to respond. 

“...A date?” 

Tipping his head, Stephen stifled a laugh. “An _emergency_ date?” 

Peter, knowing attempting to lie again would be fruitless, released a defeated huff and held his face in shame. He walked over to the table without even looking at Stephen, though the sorcerer’s eyes followed him with an amused smirk. Silence dangled in the air, and Peter would’ve preferred it that way, had Stephen not decided to break it. 

“You could’ve just said you had an emergency and I would’ve dropped it.” 

“I’m sorry, it was the first thing that came to mind!” Peter stammered. “How was...how was yesterday?” He scratched the back of his head, his eyes jotting away as he feigned obliviousness.

Stephen sat back and reflected with content. “Yesterday was good,” he admitted. “Really good.”

He caught Peter beaming, but the teen’s smile reverted once they met eyes. 

“That’s-uhm,” he coughed into his fist. “That’s good to hear.” 

Stephen’s amusement began to dissipate once he realized that this awkwardness would last for as long as Peter wanted to pretend he didn’t know what was going on. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he let out an audible sigh, alerting Peter. 

“It’s better to just ask me any questions you have now while we’re alone.” 

Peter, once again, try to play innocent for a brief second, but soon he was leaning forward with wide eyes as he started to bombard him with questions. 

“When did you two--?”

“Get together? 6 months ago. We’ve been continuously on-and-off since.” 

“What did you--?”

“--See in each other? Simple. He’s a charming, kind family man, and according to him, I’m ‘attentive’ and I ‘care about everyone, even if I don’t say it.’” 

“Have you two h--?”  
“Inappropriate,” Stephen raised a finger. “Next!” 

“Does anyone else know?” 

“No. You’re the only one who knows.” 

Peter’s mouth gaped slightly. “Not even Captain America?” 

“No.” 

Stephen watched Peter sit back in his chair, running his fingers through his hair as he looked towards the ceiling with pure stupefaction, despite the interview they just had. He could only hope that he was satisfied with questions for now. 

“This is so…” 

“Weird?” Stephen interjected. Peter nodded. “Yeah. That’s what I’ve been thinking. I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t trust you, you know.” 

“What if you two, I don’t know, get married or something? Won’t they find out somehow?” 

Truth be told, he never considered that. He never thought about his future with Scott. Not that he thought they didn’t have a future, it was just that he liked being with Scott in the present. To him, their love was a private universe, void of any past or future. It was just here and now. 

Maybe they’d settle down someday, elope, start a family down the line. Maybe, just maybe. 

“Yeah, I suppose,” he shrugged, shaking his thoughts away. “But I don’t think that’s really important right now. The present is what matters now.” 

He turned back to Peter, a smile etched onto his face. 

“Speaking of which, how’s that crush you keep texting?” 

Eyes widening, cheeks growing pink, Peter tensed up. 

“Haha! Uh, wh-what do you mean?” He faltered. “I’m not texting anybody! I don’t have a crush--!” 

Stephen bowed his head at him and gave him an all-knowing look. “Teenagers usually don’t write their initials in a heart on their homework when they don’t have a crush.” 

Peter continued to trip over his words multiple times before finally realizing there was no way out. His hands fell down his face as he slumped into the chair. 

“Ughhh….please don’t tell anyone...” 

Stephen shrugged, confused. Who was he gonna tell? The nurse?

And then Peter went from stuttering to downright monologuing. “It’s just so weird because we’ve been friends for such a long time, and I don’t want to ruin anything between us. But I keep wanting to be more. My brain just keeps yelling at me whenever we’re in the same room together, or whenever our hands meet. I’m sweating in places where I shouldn’t be. And it’s terrifying! What if I’m rejected? And we can never be friends again? And I’m just so stressed with goddamn trig, and Spider-Man, and--” 

“Hey, hey, relax,” Stephen raised a hand, trying to get Peter to calm down while also signaling that he couldn’t keep up with his words anymore. He motioned for Peter to come over to him. Once he did, Stephen looked into his eyes. “Remember, you’re just a kid. Take a deep breath.”

Peter hesitated, but listened to him. Stephen took his hand and guided him, mentor to student. 

“You don’t have to worry about this now,” he told him. “If the time comes where you decide you want to confess, then confess. If you meet someone else, then you meet someone else. You are going to pass trig. You are gonna be a senior next year. You are going to make it.” 

The teen’s eyes softened, his breath continuing to rise and fall with awareness, and he grinned. 

“Thanks, Ben.”

Stephen’s own grin fell upon hearing that tidbit. “What?” 

Catching what he said, Peter’s calm demeanor went away almost as quickly as it appeared. 

“Nothing!” He waved the comment off as he walked back to his chair. “J-Just a slip of the tongue, is all.” 

Stephen didn’t want to pry him any longer, so he just nodded his head and allowed him to stay silent. Whether “Ben” was a family member or a friend, it wasn’t his business. But throughout this whole ordeal, he had to admit, Peter reminded him of family. 

And honestly, he missed what having a family felt like.

* * *

_He was standing on the edge of oblivion, facing the eye of the storm._

_He was back in the cycle, back to facing the destruction that haunted his memories._

_“I’ve come to bargain.”_

_Dormammu was far larger than life, even within his dreams. Galaxies swirled within him, the stars miniscule behind his physical form. The fiery malevolence in his eyes could command a universe. And Stephen, once again, was the only thing keeping that from happening._

_“You’ve come to die.”_

_Raising his fist, a colony of glass spears soared down to impale Stephen right then and there. For once, Stephen didn’t anticipate it, nor did he dread the sensation. He clung to where he stood, spreading his arms out, and embraced the incoming pain._

_And nothing happened._

_“Didn’t you hear me? I said you’ve come to die.”_

_He stood there, silent as the gusts of stardust spiraled against his body. He looked up to Dormammu with a barren face, one devoid of any fear._

_“You insolent mortal! Do you not understand what you are doing? You have come to die!”_

_Suddenly, instead of darkness, there was light. Bright, blinding light. Stephen gasped, watching the scenery change before him into a vapid ocean. The wind howled in his ears as the waves below him crashed against the rocky cliffs. He looked around, trying to figure out where he had been transported._

_“Stevie?” A familiar figure emerged. He met eye-to-eye with his sister, as innocent and chipper as she appeared in his memories. “Are you surprised to see me? You could’ve saved me, you know. I saw you while I was drowning, standing on the side, watching me drown. I yelled, and flailed, and swam for dear life, but you just let me sink. Do you really think you’re capable of saving anyone? When you couldn’t even save your family?”_

_He could’ve cried, broken down right then and there. But he didn’t. Because what was the point of crying for a false memory?_

_He reached out for Donna, calm apologies at the tip of his tongue, but her image evaporated upon him. Before he could react, the scenery changed yet again. This time, he recognized it: the cloudy sky with no land below him. The plane that kept him from leaving reality for good._

_Stephen stared at Victor’s body as it stood before him, an exact image of how he remembered him: young and passionate._

_“Stephen? Stephen?” Victor called out, waving a hand in front of his face. “Stephen, are you listening? Why the hell didn’t you come to mom’s funeral? I called you. I called you a million times. You couldn’t save Donna, the least you could’ve done was comfort our parents. Was this your goal? Last man standing? Do you not even care about us anymore? I used to look up to you as a kid, I really did, but now you’re such a selfish goddamn dick--!”_

_His voice was cut off as Stephen ran up and hugged him. He never considered it an option within these nightmares. He had always seemed to just accept death until now._

_“You don’t have to forgive me,” he whispered into Victor’s ear._

_Victor paused where he stood, eyes wide, and returned the hug. But he was only able to enjoy it for a second. Just like that, Victor had vanished from his arms, replaced with the striking image of Donna behind him. Stephen turned around and acknowledged her._

_“I can’t change the past. But the most I can do is not let myself be haunted by it.”_

_She didn’t approach him. All she did was nod, satisfied with his answer, as she faded away yet again. That only left one more person._

_The scenery snapped back to its original state, and he found himself standing in the midst of the storm, facing the monstrous figure threatening to crush him where he stood. Yet he didn’t panic. He barely even reacted. He just looked Dormammu straight into his petrifying eyes and spoke._

_“And you,” he said, at peace with himself. “You have no power over me.”_

_But unlike his ghostly siblings, Dormammu wasn’t taking that for an answer. With a truly unearthly wail, he sent down a rain of vivid fireballs, all in various displays of seering color. Stephen couldn’t do anything to him. He never could. He closed his eyes, looked up, and felt the burning sensation rush through his skin--_

With a scream, he shot up from his bed, grabbing his head in pain. Instantly he felt gentle arms holding him, a calm voice whispering into his ear. 

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” Scott hushed, holding him in the cot. “It was just a nightmare.” 

He had stayed past his usual shift yet again. Stephen had requested the change, and Scott was obviously not going to argue against spending more time with him. He found himself lucky that Steve agreed. Scott felt like the only person he trusted to help him through something like this. 

“It was just a nightmare…” Stephen’s voice was shaky, but he was already doing his breathing exercises. “I’m here with you, I’m awake.” 

“You’re awake,” Scott rubbed his back comfortingly. “Look at me.” 

Stephen cemented himself in the present and turned to Scott, now sitting up. Once he met his eyes, he felt at home. 

“H-Hi,” he said, gazing at his moonlit partner. 

“Hi,” Scott replied softly. “You can go back to sleep. I’ll be right here.” 

Stephen exhaled, putting all of his trust into him. He leaned back into bed, feeling Scott wrap his arm around his torso, his chest against his back. At this point, he didn’t care who saw them. This was their truth, and he wanted to live it. 

“I love you,” he said as he let himself drift back into sleep. 

He felt a peck on his cheek right before he fell asleep. 

“I love you, too,” Scott’s voice was the last thing he heard as he fell into a rare, peaceful rest.

* * *

The next time he woke up, still in Scott’s arms as he had promised, he noticed that there was actual sunlight shining through the window. He turned to the clock on the wall, paused, then smiled. No one would’ve understood why he was smiling about some random time, but he took the moment to enjoy it before he went back to sleep. 

It was 7:30 AM. 5 whole hours of blissful sleep. 

* * *

The day finally came. 

With a heavy breath and a hand on his chest, Stephen stepped out of the hospital and took in some fresh air. It was a familiar sensation, he hadn’t lost himself completely during the past few weeks, yet everything just felt unusual to him. A good kind of unusual, one that was friendly and inviting. 

He couldn’t put it into words, but the world just seemed... _new_ to him. 

Hearing the automatic doors close behind him, he paused, taking in the sun. Warmth shined over his skin for the first time in months. Shaking hands at his side, he peered at the grass lining the pavement, the flowers blooming in patches. He stepped forward and took all the sunshine in. 

“Everything alright?” 

Turning around, he faced Scott as he followed him outdoors. He’d almost forgotten he asked him to accompany him during his discharging. Much like the sun above them, Scott had a warm aura that infected everything around him. It was all in the way he smiled, the way he ran his fingers in his hair as he waited for an answer. Stephen could appreciate a man with an inviting aura. 

Chuckling, Stephen shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just wondering-- how am I going to adjust standing on solid ground?” 

Walking over to him, he shrugged. 

“It’s gonna take some time getting used to a lot of things. Eating good food, getting drinks, actually watching quality television.”

He walked Stephen out to the parking lot, towards the city. Sure, Stephen could’ve just portalled back to the Sanctum already, but this felt nicer. After all they’ve been through, didn’t they deserve an afternoon together? 

With a coy grin, Stephen slipped his hand into Scott’s, though didn’t acknowledge it. 

“Do you want to visit the Sanctorum after lunch?” He looked at him. “I’ll need some help rearranging things in my return.” 

Scott gave him a playful glare, one that teased him for his dumb question. The question may as well have been rhetorical, because both of them already knew the answer. 

“Of course.” 

* * *

The Compound brightened with liveliness upon Stephen’s entrance. Much to his surprise, he had received an invitation to a get-together at the Compound only 2 weeks after he was discharged. Normally he would’ve turned it down, just like every other invitation he’d gotten before then. But tonight was different. He actually wanted company now. He’d grown fond of it. 

Additionally, he had an intuition that someone he knew would be there… 

“There’s the man of the hour!” Tony announced proudly as he made his entrance. Stephen rolled his eyes, only a little amused, and walked towards him. Offering him a glass, Tony looked him up and down and smirked. “It just occurred to me that I’ve never seen you in anything other than your robes.” 

Stephen, despite his efforts, failed to hold back a grin as he grabbed the glass. Granted, it felt comfortable wearing something casual for once. Definitely less needlessly hot. “And a gown. A backless one, at that.” 

“Looked good on you, though,” Tony raised his glass. 

Stephen stifled a chuckle as he took a sip. However, it was apparently audible enough to earn him some gawking from the mechanic. 

“Holy shit, you _laugh?”_

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Stephen couldn’t help but chuckle again, openly this time. “Yes. I do. Despite what it may seem, I am human.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” With a pat on his shoulder, Tony flashed him a grin and left his side to socialize with another group beside them. 

He watched as Tony walked away, still not sure what to think of him. Sure, he wasn’t insufferable, but he didn’t consider him a close friend at the moment. A decent friend, sure, but it was probably gonna take some time for his personality to grow on him. That being said, his introduction made him feel welcome, and he could appreciate that at least. 

Right as he went to take another sip, someone came colliding into him. Stephen just narrowly avoided being trampled by a _very_ eccentric Peter, who was on the verge of exploding with joy. 

“Stephen!!” His smile could be heard in his voice alone. 

“Woah, Peter, you could’ve just said hi--” 

“I’m going on a date!” 

Stephen’s eyes widened at the news, nearly disregarding his reckless behavior. “You told--?”

“Yes!” Peter motioned with his arms, nearly vibrating with excitement. “And I wasn’t rejected! We’re gonna try a movie night, just the two of us, and see how it goes. I can’t wait, holy shit, this didn’t end completely horribly!” 

He beamed, feeling proud of him. “That’s great!” 

“And! And-- I passed my trig final!” He threw his arms in the air. “I can’t believe this, I have to be dreaming-- I’m actually passing math and I have a date-- hell _fucking_ yeah!” 

The room fell silent. An array of adults stared at Peter in disbelief, including Stephen. The teen’s elation subsided into embarrassment as he dropped his arms. 

“I’ll just--” he stepped to a different direction. “I’ll just see myself to the corner now…” 

Soon, Peter disappeared, leaving Stephen alone to enjoy his drink. He scanned the area, admiring the jovial conversations that were happening around him. Maybe one day he’d join one of them, but for now he was content with where he was: alone with a drink, but surrounded by something he could almost call a family. Almost. It’d take some getting used to, but he was ready to take that extra step into creating new bonds. 

However, he was already preoccupied with a personal bond at the moment. And the person in that bond was making his way toward him right now. 

“Doctor Strange.” 

Turning around, warmth began to rise in his chest as he faced Scott eye-to-eye. Scott had an eager twinkle in his eye, one that let Stephen know he’d been waiting to see him all night. But of course, they couldn’t break character in public. They had to be professional (or at least, as professional as they could muster). “Mr. Lang,” Stephen replied with a teasing grin. He couldn’t help but feel pleased as Scott looked him up and down. 

“You’re looking snazzy tonight,” he commented, sneaking a hand onto the small of his back. “The flannel look suits you.” 

“And I admire your baseball tee greatly,” he let a hand drift onto his shoulder in response. The two of them spent some time gazing into each other’s eyes, pretending they were the only ones in the compound. But they were still caught in reality, however, and if they remained where they were any longer their relationship would’ve been public. 

“You wanna get some air?” Scott offered, struggling not to kiss him right then and there. 

Stephen took his hand off of his shoulder and slipped it into his. “Gladly.” 

Making sure no one was watching them leave, the two strolled out of view and onto the balcony, away from the rest of the party. Behind the glass doors shut out the rest of the world, leaving them free to enjoy each other’s company as much as they wanted. 

Stephen leaned forward on the railing, taking in the midnight breeze. The stars shone above them, full of life.

“How’s life back on your feet?” Scott asked, wrapping an arm around his back. “You know you can always drop by my place anytime.” 

“I’m doing well, Scott,” Stephen assured, resting a hand on his. “I’m fine as is.” 

“I know how empty that Sanctum is sometimes,” he leaned his head onto his, staring up at the night sky. “Some nights I just want to hold you again.” 

A blush arose on Stephen’s face. It was mortifying, he had to admit, that he could be reduced to a meek schoolboy over some casual confession of love. He’d missed the excitement that came with blossoming love-- this time he was sure he wouldn’t let it go, no matter what. 

“I know,” he filled in the empty air. “I feel the same way.” 

Scott sighed, then stayed quiet. Peering at him, he wondered what he thought about most of the time. He enjoyed hearing his voice, he just wished he could hear it more often. 

“If you still need some space, then tell me,” Scott insisted, still not entirely confident about their patched relationship. “But you need to know that I will be here for you no matter wh--” 

And for once, Stephen was the one to shut him up with a kiss. They automatically melted into each other. He shivered as he felt Scott’s hands rise to hold his face. It was sweet, like always, but neither of them grew sick of the sensation of having each other to hold. 

That was love. 

“Shut up already,” Stephen muttered as he broke the kiss at last. If he hadn’t, the two of them would’ve stayed that way for a solid hour. But at least they could stay like this, huddled next to each other, gazing at the enchanting indigo sky. 

“I’ve missed this,” Scott spoke up. 

“Hmmm…” 

“So I suppose you’re feeling better?” 

“I’m as best as I can be today.”

Scott pecked him on the cheek. “I’m proud of you.”

As another blush rose to his face, Stephen prepared to lean into yet another long, passionate kiss, until he paused. A laugh escaped his lips as he looked over his shoulder. 

Scott stared at him. “What?” 

Stephen pointed his head behind them. “I think we have a crowd.” 

Turning around, the two of them watched the few heroes that had gathered behind the glass doors. 

“Hey guys,” Stephen called out. “The view’s great from up here, you should join us.” 

Each of them still frozen, Steve was the one to open it up and step forward. 

“So,” he said, pointing at them individually. “You two.” 

Scott wrapped an arm around Stephen’s shoulders and nodded. “Yeah.” 

Steve was, yet again, at a loss for words. He took a deep breath in, deep breath out, and just said whatever came to mind. 

“Okay. Wow. Okay. This might take some getting used to. I didn’t even know you two knew each other. But you know what? Good for you two,” he raised two thumbs up. “Good for you.” 

“Why don’t you give them some alone time?” Tony asked. Steve opened his mouth to say something else, but hastily closed it as he walked back into the Compound, but not before giving the couple another thumbs up. 

The door creaked close, the party once again became a series of muffled noises, and the two of them stared at each other for a brief second of silence...right before bursting into shared laughter. 

“The look on his face!” Stephen yelled in-between laughs. 

Scott grabbed his shoulder to keep himself from falling over. “Guess our secret is out.” 

Though both of them knew they would’ve had a lot to discuss later on, they pushed it aside. Once again, that was for later. And now was now. As their laughter died down, they intertwined their fingers, locked eyes, and grinned like they were the only people in the world. 

“Let’s just have some wine, alright?” Stephen stroked his face. 

Scott pulled him into a small kiss in agreement. “Sounds good to me.”

Hand-in-hand, they walked back into the Compound with a newfound pride in each other, ready to face whatever was headed their way. As they left the sky, Stephen looked over his shoulder for a split-second. 

He gazed at the millions of stars dancing along the sky. He mumbled something under his breath that not even Scott could hear. 

“Thank you.” 

As the doors behind him closed and he was swept back into the party scene, he swore he could see two particular stars glisten brightly as if in response. And though he wouldn’t be able to prove what he saw, he was at peace nonetheless. 

Tonight, the world was finally stable. 

**Author's Note:**

> okay so next year i've got a lot of projects planned. i'm already working on a 3-chapter fic (or i already have 3 chapters planned, who knows if it might spiral into something more) and after that i have a few other ideas i wanna write out 
> 
> until then, happy new year (or at least as happy as you can make it in our time) and i'll see you later 
> 
> *breakout from 3d dot game heroes* 


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